


The Cuckoo and the Wolves

by harrypanther



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Moral Ambiguity, Set after 'Tattoo? What Tattoo?', Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrypanther/pseuds/harrypanther
Summary: The arrival of a new gang of violent outlaws in Sherwood leads to attacks on Manor Houses and many deaths. But when Guy of Gisborne is captured by the gang as the key to the patrols, things take an unexpected turn. With a new, eager candidate for the Master-At-Arms post, the Sheriff seems unconcerned with the fate of his faithful lieutenant but is the newcomer worse than the man he is replacing? Facing death, can Gisborne escape and does he have any allies-even from the most unexpected quarter?Set after ‘Tattoo? What Tattoo?’ (S1 E8)Disclaimer: All rights remain with BBC/Tiger Aspect.
Relationships: Guy of Gisborne/Marian of Knighton, Marian of Knighton/Robin of Locksley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter One

**Chapter One:**

It had been a very bad day and all Sir Guy of Gisborne, second-in-command and Master-At-Arms to the odious Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, wanted was to go home, get cleaned up and rest. So, of course, he instead was riding back to Nottingham Castle alongside his master and a troop of guards who had just participated in a partially unsuccessful prisoner swap. Successful in respect that it had freed Gisborne from Hood’s clutches but unsuccessful in the respect that it had failed to retain the prisoner Djaq or capture Hood and his men. And the Sheriff, to put it mildly, was furious.

Gisborne had worked for this capricious master for enough years to recognise the signs and inwardly sighed. He could own that he had been rash, racing off after Hood and his men, blinded by his fury at the outlaw’s provocation in stealing Marion’s ring-the engagement ring he had placed on her finger not two minutes before the man and his gang had burst in and robbed everyone at Locksley Manor. The fact that it was Gisborne’s home, that his men were so easily blindsided and overcome shouldn’t have enraged him-though they did-and the fact that Marion seemed to prefer being robbed by Hood to his touch just rubbed salt into Gisborne’s wounded pride. The uncovering of his scar and tattoo and his involvement in that failure in Acre had just finished to job in blinding him to sanity for long enough to be captured. And then… He blinked. Hood had changed: gone was the mocking smug facade and in its place was a man possessed, prepared to kill, torture and maim to provide proof of Gisborne’s treachery. And Gisborne’s life had been saved by Hood’s own men, more than once, He was under no illusion that if they had not been there, he would lie dead in the forest.

He grimaced as he jogged his right arm. Hood’s proof was gone now, the tattoo and incriminating scar burnt from his skin by some hellish liquid that had eaten his skin and bubbled the flesh. The pain…was still burning viciously, despite the crude bandage one of the men had hastily wound around the ugly wound. Vaisey had seemed quite chipper at the opportunity to hurt Gisborne for the inconvenience of having to rescue him, though he was under no illusion it would not be the only penalty he paid for the incident.

It was almost dark when they finally arrived back and Vaisey, as expected, had dismounted and stalked into the castle like the peacock he was. There was a sneer on his face as he cast a sidelong glance at his Master-at-Arms.

“My office. Now!” he snapped and stalked off. Squaring his shoulders, Gisborne walked after him, ignoring the hundred aches and pains zinging through his tall shape. In a day where he had been punched unconscious twice and fought an unarmed battle with Hood for what seemed like hours, he could only hope Hood was feeling worse. Not that it mattered. Vaisey would do what he wanted and what he wanted, by the dangerous gleam in his eye, was to ensure Gisborne knew how much he owed his master for the rescue. The knight had no illusions that Vaisey had negotiated for his release out of friendship or any sense of loyalty to his subordinate. No, Gisborne would pay and pay dearly for his freedom.

But his chin was up and his expression carefully neutral as the guards slammed the office door slammed behind him and the smaller man stalked to his chair, pouring himself a goblet of wine before sitting back, toying with the pewter and inspecting Gisborne like an errant squire.

“You look a mess,” he commented.

That didn’t warrant a reply so it was wisest to remain silent, awaiting the next jab.

“Did you know the Saracen was a girl?” Vaisey asked.

_“Djaq’s still in there. We have to rescue her before the Sheriff finds out…”_

A single nod was sufficient. Vaisey leaned forward slightly and glared.

“When did you intend to tell me?” he asked bluntly.

“When she was captured,” he managed, his voice a little hoarse from the screams he had swallowed as Vaisey had poured that devil liquid on his arm.

Vaisey’s fist crashed onto the table and Gisborne managed not to flinch too obviously though there was no hope that the Sheriff hadn’t noticed the tiny movement.

“You didn’t, did you?” he hissed. “Instead, you ran off like a lovesick peasant.” Then he pouted, sticking his lower lip out for emphasis. “Oh dear. That mean old Robin Hood stole my ring. I must run off on my own without any backup against a gang of armed and murderous outlaws to get it back!” His tone was dripping sarcasm. “A Clue: NO!” he shouted.

“My lord,” Gisborne said flatly.

“You know your leper came to interrupt me?” Vaisey sneered, taking a big gulp of wine. Some dribbled down his chin as Gisborne finally looked straight at him, ignoring the tiny jab of shame the term always evoked. Vaisey knew his father had been a leper, of course, so the epithet was doubly cruel.

“Marion?”

“How many other women are you engaged to, Gisborne?” the Sheriff taunted him. “I was just about to have a quiet little session, torturing the Saracen for the secret of that hellfire liquid I wasted burning that evidence off your arm, and there she is. Interrupting my fun, whining that you are a loyal servant and friend and that I should accept the trade for you. That she was worried for you. Blah-de-blah-de-blah!”

He frowned, processing the words.

_Marion had intervened on his behalf. She had argued for him._

_She was concerned?_

_Vaisey would have left him._

The last one was the least surprising but it still hurt, just a little, after everything he had done, risked, sacrificed in the man’s service.

“Marion was worried for me?” His tone was hesitant and ever so slightly hopeful and he knew as he said the words that Vaisey would use it against him. As expected, Vaisey’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant smirk.

“Astonishing, I know,” he sneered. “Can hardly be your sparkling wit or charming personality, can it, Gisborne? She must have seen the size of your…portfolio…”

He closed his eyes for a second at the crude taunt. It was the currency of his interaction with the man, the constant drip-drip of corrosive words that had stretched back to the very beginning of his service to the nobleman. Everything in his life was sullied by Vaisey, no matter how private or unconnected to the man. It was the control the Sheriff wanted to exert on every aspect of his subordinate’s life, the subtle reminder that whatever he looked at was only there at the benevolence of his master. Vaisey was smirking at him as he looked back, that smug satisfaction that he had landed another jab at Gisborne’s tattered pride.

“Nothing to say?” he taunted, swigging his wine again, then sloshing more of the liquid into his cup.

“No, my Lord.”

“Only…you sounded surprised that your fiancee, the woman madly in love with you, would be concerned that her intended was in the clutches of that murderous outlaw?”

That expected a response and he had to assemble his thoughts quickly.

“Marion is…not always demonstrative of her affections,” he managed.

“Really? Hadn’t noticed!” Vaisey, purred, sitting back and sipping his wine.

“Though I am assured of her attachment,” he found himself saying and instantly cursed himself. Too much. Vaisey fashioned a sympathetic smile that contained nothing but malice at the little nugget he would recycle another time.

“I am sure,” he mocked, resting his goblet down and rising. Gisborne stiffened imperceptibly, muscles tensing ready for whatever Vaisey planned next. Predatorily, the Sheriff walked round his desk to inspect the dishevelled, taller man, his expression mocking. “You know, you cost me an opportunity. I had to use all of the hellfire liquid I liberated from the Saracen to cover your incompetence,” he hissed then reached out and grasped Gisborne’s right arm, lifting it to peer at the crude bandage wrapped over the burn. “How is it, by the way?”

“It has been tended.” Neutral enough but he knew that wouldn’t satisfy Vaisey. He felt himself stiffen as the man wrapped his hand around the injury.

“You know, you should thank me,” the Sheriff commented acidly. Gisborne arched an eyebrow. “For rescuing you. For removing evidence of your treason-of your incompetence. I just saved your life twice over today, Gisborne.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“No, Gisborne! I want you to _thank_ me!” His thumb dug into the bandage, pressing viciously into the raw flesh beneath, fire blooming from the already-painful location. Gisborne’s jaw tightened, a low grunt escaping as he tried to conceal the sudden pain.

“My Lord…I am thankful that you…”

The pressure increased and he found he was pulling his neck back, trying to pull away from the worsening agony. The Sheriff’s grip tightened further.

“I can’t hear you…” Vaisey taunted him.

“…I am grateful that you saved my life…”

“You don’t look grateful,” the Sheriff told him. “On your knees, I think…”

It felt like the man was trying to force his thumb right through the flesh of Gisborne’s arm and out the other side. There really was no option as he slowly lowered himself to his knees, making every effort not to pull on the vice-like grip on his arm.

“Better,” Vaisey commented cruelly, the pressure on the wound increasing again. Gisborne moaned, sweat standing out on his brow. “But I’m not hearing the words, am I?”

How could he talk when his jaw was clenched so tight he thought he might crack a tooth? How could he talk when if he opened his mouth, he was afraid he would scream? But the Sheriff wasn’t a patient man and he certainly wasn’t a merciful man. And if he didn’t get what he wanted, he would continue…

“I am…utterly grateful…that my Lord has…saved me from…my own stupidity…and spared my life…” he forced out, voice hoarse with pain. “I am…in your debt…”

The Sheriff leaned forward, his face inches from Gisborne’s, his rancid breath washing over Gisborne’s skin. His eyes were icily triumphant, as if he had won whatever game he had been playing-usually a game to which only he knew the rules and the endpoint usually included some unfortunate suffering. Frequently Gisborne.

“Don’t forget it,” Vaisey breathed and then finally released him. Gisborne exhaled in relief, pulling his right arm across his body and protectively pressing his left hand flat over the now-bloodstained bandage. “Now get out of here. You’ve wasted enough of my time.” Wearily, Gisborne clambered to his feet and turned to the door, shoulders back and head up. “And Gisborne?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“I think if you have the energy to run off after Hood like a fool, then you will have the energy to be a little more hands-on until I am convinced you can act like an adult again!”

“Yes, my Lord.”

But it was only when the heavy door slammed behind him that he could relax a fraction. He was exhausted, the torchlight giving little indication of time, though it was late. He was hungry, grimy, in pain and bone-weary. Every part of him ached and he couldn’t muster the energy to ride back to Locksley tonight so he stalked back to his rooms in the castle. The fire wasn’t lit but he didn’t care. He pulled off his boots, collapsed on the bed and sleep claimed him.

oOo

Morning brought no relief after a night fractured by dreams of the attack, of death and red-hot swords and pain and the hangman’s noose. Feeling barely rested and stiff as a board, he managed to lever himself to his feet and groaned. It was still early enough that Vaisey would be slumbering so he headed down to the stables, took his horse and headed back to Locksley. At least the ride allowed him to clear his head, though every jolt emphasised the bruises he had acquired the previous day. And while things could be infinitely worse, it helped crystallise his resolve to double down on his efforts to bring Hood to the gallows and end their rivalry once and for all. But first, he had a couple of matters to attend to.

Unsurprisingly, Thornton was waiting when he arrived back, the steward’s calm demeanour unruffled by the chaotic events of the previous day.

“Get me hot water, food and the healer,” Gisborne snapped as he stalked past the man. He didn’t want sympathy or concern, even if the servants were minded to offer it. They weren’t his friends, they were there to do his bidding, when all was said and done. Some small part of him reminded him that people responded better to decent treatment but that wasn’t the man he had become and he wasn’t about to dilute the fear he provoked by permitting sentimental weakness and tales of kindness to his servants to exist. He had worked hard for everything he had now and to gain the reputation that struck fear into the peasants. The man nodded.

“Yes, my Lord,” he said calmly. “The Lady Marion visited yesterday evening. She asked me to tell you when you returned.”

He stopped halfway up the stairs and cast a glance back at the man.

“Thank you,” he said and then carried on, taking the stairs two at a time. But somehow, his steps felt lighter at the words.

_Marion had visited. She had come to check her fiancé was safe after his captivity._

And while he hated to look weak, to give the impression he was anything other than in complete control, the part of him that loved her warmed at the gesture of concern.

_It could just be duty,_ the larger, more distrustful part of him reminded himself.

He shook his head and entered his room, glancing around and stripping off his grubby tunic and torn shirt. For a moment, he glanced at the bruises that had bloomed on his body overnight, evidence of the brutality of his fight with Hood and he sighed. His only comfort was that Hood would be feeling as battered as he did and that was scant comfort indeed. But for now, it would have to do.

Washed, his arm re-dressed by Hilda, the local healer and fed, he swept out of the house. The servants had been watchful and he knew he was scowling, though there were a few sidelong looks at the obvious bruises on his face. They all knew he had been taken by Hood, their former master and he had always known that their loyalties to him were distinctly shaky. Why did it seem today that their eyes seemed more intrusive? But he mounted and cantered away without a backwards glance, under no illusion that by the time he returned to Nottingham, Vaisey would be impatient. But he owed Knighton a visit first.

The ride wasn’t long but his mind was swirling over the events of the previous day and it seemed an instant that he was pulling to a halt outside the familiar hall. He was a frequent enough visitor now not to cause much interest, the occasional peasant head bobbing up from their tasks as he rode past and then being disregarded as he was alone. He only caused alarm in Knighton when he arrived with his men and there was a small part of him that wasn’t unhappy at that fact. But as he stood at the door, his fist raised to knock, he paused.

What could he say? He had ridden here because it was the right thing to do but talking to Marion was always difficult. He knew he was not the most eloquent of men, a brutal soldier and killer whose skills lay in battle, not in courtly words. And yet…he desired Marion above all things and though he knew his attempts at wooing her always seems to be displeasing to her-too crude, too obvious, too possessive, too intrusive, too extravagant, too clumsy-he had won her hand.

_Though you gave her little choice,_ that treacherous corner of his mind reminded him. _You had just accused her of treachery and threatened to take her to Nottingham to hang. You threatened her father. What choice had she but to accept you?_

He slammed his fist on the wood with more force than a courtly man would use and then stood back. The door was opened by Sir Edward and Gisborne met the older man’s startled eyes. Then he looked resigned and gave a nod of greeting.

“Sir Guy,” he greeted, stepping back to allow the taller man in. “Please come in.”

“Sir Edward,” Gisborne greeted, walking into the pleasant space of the main room. “Is Marion in?” Sir Edward nodded.

“I will fetch her,” he said and then paused, inspecting Gisborne’s face and lingering on the bruises. “I am grateful for your safe return. You are unharmed?” A mirthless smile turned up the corners of Gisborne’s mouth.

“I am,” he lied easily. Sir Edward hummed and nodded.

“I will fetch my daughter,” he said and turned away. And that was it: forced politeness, barely concealed disappointment and complete distrust. Sir Edward could not disapprove more of his future son-in-law but of course, he was too polite to express his dislike of the brutal and unpolished landless knight who had been gifted his daughter’s former fiancé’s honours. His face hardened. Sir Edward’s opinion didn’t matter-nor did anyone else’s. Marion was his only goal. And he hadn’t spoken falsely when he told her that she was everything to him. And yes, part of it was the triumph of knowing that she still carried some affection for Robin, the former Earl of Huntingdon: he couldn’t deny that. He had used Marion to taunt Hood the previous day and the outlaw’s reaction to the words had confirmed that Hood was still very much in love with the girl. But more was the fact that Gisborne did love her-as much as he understood the emotion. She was beautiful and spirited, opinionated and infuriating. And very brave, risking herself for what she believed was right-much of which he did not agree with-and yesterday, even for him.

“Sir Guy?”

He blinked. He had been lost in his thoughts and he hadn’t heard her approach. He covered it with a weak smile as he half-bowed in greeting.

“Marion,” he managed. Her blue eyes swept over his black-clad shape and her brows furrowed, seeing the bruises visible.

“Are you hurt?’ she asked directly and he shook his head.

“A few bruises only,” he told her softly, taking a small step closer. He looked into her beautiful face, framed by her soft brown hair. She managed a small smile.

“I am glad,” she said softly. “I…”

“I owe you my life,” he interrupted, hating that it sounded like someone had ripped the words from his throat by torture. Was it so hard to acknowledge her help, when he wanted to win her trust? When he was trying to show her exactly what she meant to him? She looked surprised at his words and she blinked before her passive facade was back in place.

“I did little but deliver the ultimatum that Robin Hood sent to our home,” she said too quickly, brushing off his gratitude. But he shook his head, his expression softer.

“I think you did more than that,” he told her in a low voice, trying to convince her of his sincerity. “Marion, I know my master. I know…he is not the kind of Sheriff who thinks kindly of relinquishing any prisoner.” Her eyes widened slightly.

“I think you are too kind to me,” she told him, brushing off his thanks. “All I did was remind him of your service, your loyalty, your friendship…” He snorted at that and for a moment, her lips twitched at the sound. They both recognised that whatever Vaisey was, it wasn’t a friend by any accepted description of the word.

“Yet I am certain it was your words that persuaded him to make the swap,” he told her honestly. “Otherwise, the Saracen would be in the dungeons and I…” He paused and his brow furrowed. Would Hood have finally persuaded his men to allow him to torture him? How far would the supposed ‘hero of Sherwood’ have actually gone to wring what he wanted from him? Would he even still be alive now? “I would still be a prisoner.” She sighed.

“Why do you serve him?’ she asked wearily. “He gives you scant thought and runs you ragged, Guy. Yesterday…he said he barely noticed you weren’t there. Robin Hood and his men always try to rescue their own but the Sheriff…he was happy if you died in the forest. He was reluctant to lift a finger to retrieve you.”

Hearing the words only twisted something tight inside him. Gisborne valued loyalty above all things, the core tenet of his beliefs and the only one he had never broken. And he had given Vaisey his loyalty, his sword…everything. He had never hesitated to do what the man had asked, no matter how dirty or how treacherous. The confirmation that the Sheriff considered the bargain entirely one way was like a blow to the gut, a betrayal that shouldn’t shock him but still hurt.

“I know,” was all he could manage and then he swallowed, lifting his chin. “But you know why I serve him, Marion. Everything I have-lands, position, power-stems from him. I swore him my service and I owe him.”

“Your life?” she replied, her passion firing her eyes. It was an argument they had rehearsed many times but yesterday’s events had handed her an additional lever. And should a prospective bride not be outraged that her soon-to-be husband’s master would abandon him like a broken dagger if he had something more interesting to do? But he knew the terms he had taken and the price he had paid in terms of his soul. His life was forfeit if half of what he had done for Vaisey was ever put before the courts.

“My life is his to command,” he replied wearily, falling back on the stock answer. “As is any man who fights for a master, whether he is a Lord or a King. You know that, Marion.”

“But he was willing to leave you to be killed,” she protested and he frowned.

“Hood’s men don’t kill as a rule,” he reminded her, though her eyes looked upset.

“They may have broken their rules for you,” she retorted, her voice rising. Her eyes flicked over his obvious bruises and he was glad his bandaged wound was concealed under his sleeve. “Guy-they hate you. You are responsible for pretty much everything they fight against. You are the most hated man in Nottinghamshire, more so than the Sheriff. Because you are the man who leads the guards into the villages, who orders whippings and maimings. You are the man who takes the money to the last coin and all their food so their children starve or the old freeze. I am surprised that you got off so lightly.” For a second, her hand rose, her fingers hovering over his cheek, brushing lightly over a welt that had darkened his pale skin. He hardly dared breath, for she usually shied from his touch and for her to reach for him…well, the phrase pathetically grateful (spoken in his mind in the Sheriff’s sneering tones, nevertheless) barely covered it.

“So am I,” he breathed and caught her hand, running his thumb gently over her knuckles. Predictably, she pulled her hand away and he exhaled, the moment broken. Then he blinked. _Too greedy. Too impatient._ “Thank you. For saving my life. And for visiting yesterday.” He offered a small smile and a faint response lit her face for the briefest moment.

“You’re welcome,” she said as he moved back.

“I must go,” he said formally, bowing to her and her father, who was still hovering as the proper chaperone he was. “May I visit tomorrow?” She nodded, her mask back in place.

“I look forward to it,” she said and moved to stand alongside her father as Gisborne mounted expertly and rode away. Snatching a look back at her, standing in the doorway beside her father, her hand clasped around his and her expression solemn, he felt his heart lighten and he gave a slightly more hopeful smile before he headed away, back to the Sheriff.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two:**

“What did he have to say for himself?” Robin’s voice was hard-edged as he lounged in the window of her room. She flicked him an irritated glance.

“He came to thank me,” Marion said, folding her arms and casting him an exasperated look. He was almost as bruised as Gisborne but still sounded angry.

“He knows…?”

“I took the ransom note to the Sheriff,” she reminded him. “And I had to persuade him to go through with the exchange.” Robin raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he commented sharply.

“But you wouldn’t have got Djaq back without it,” she retorted. “Maybe if you had been there for the first rescue attempt, rather than pursuing your ridiculous…”

“He’s a traitor!” Robin snarled. “He tried to murder the King. That is the absolute definition of treason! And I stopped him.” She shook her head, facing him and shaking her head slightly

“Did you see his face?” she asked him pointedly. He shook his head.

“I know it was him. His tattoo…” And then he grimaced. “Which the Sheriff burned off in front of us.” Marion folded her arms again.

“You have no proof…for now,” she told him, forcing herself to calm down. Robin was frequently exasperating but she preferred that to this Robin, a man who would-according to Much-have tortured Gisborne for proof of his treason or cut his throat without any trial. “But there will be a trail and I am sure you will find it…without resorting to something that undermines who you are.” The brief flash of shame in his eyes showed he had acknowledged her point.

“I should thank you-and Much,” he admitted. “I-I can’t say I wholly regret what I did because I serve King Richard and that attack nearly took his life and mine. And that was all Gisborne.”

“But not Guy alone,” Marion said. He raised an eyebrow.

“The Sheriff was certainly involved,” he conceded. “But finding proof will be near to impossible.”

“I can help,” she reminded him. “As Guy’s fiancee…” Instantly, he shook his head.

“You should keep away from him,” he told her. “He’s dangerous, Marion. If he knew you had been at the camp…”

“Well, you’d beaten him senseless and you blindfolded and gagged him so the chances of him recognising me were next to nothing,” she retorted. “And I had to stop you. Much was right! You were out of control-and you have to be Robin Hood. You can’t be so eaten up by revenge and hatred that you become…them.”

“Desperate times require desperate measures…” he began but she frowned and took a step forward.

“If we let them take away what makes us different, then we lose the war, Robin,” she reminded him. “Justice, order, law…compassion. We lose those and it doesn’t matter who is on the Throne because the England we care for, the England we fought to protect is lost.”

He took a shaky breath and then it was back-that cocky grin.

“That’s the girl I love,” he told her brashly as she rolled her eyes.

“I am to marry Guy,” she reminded him. The smile vanished.

“When Richard returns,” he reminded her. “And on that day, it won’t matter because the Sheriff and Gisborne will be out and I will have my lands and titles back…and we…”

“Robin…before you start planning my life, you need to ask me,” she reminded him tartly. Then she relented. “We’ve argued about this before and I don’t want to again…not today.” She walked to him and touched his cheek, hands grazing a particularly nasty welt, mirroring the action she performed for Gisborne minutes earlier. “You are unhurt?” He smiled crookedly.

“Better than Gisborne,” he told her cockily. She shook her head, curiously irritated.

“Go away and steal something,” she told him and he smirked, giving a tiny mocking bow.

“As my lady requests,” he said and jumped. She walked to the window, seeing him land safely and wave before he trotted away. She sighed.

“Men.”

oOo

No one would pay the little group of men walking down one of the north roads a second glance, ragged and dirty, pushing a hand cart with a few lumpy rags, a couple of sagging sacks and a couple of blankets carelessly rolled up. A couple of pots clattered as they jolted over bumps in the rutted road. They looked like travellers or maybe refugees, seeking a kinder Lord than the one they had escaped. Only a few would have recognised the confidence in their strides, the balance in their movements and the skilled observation of their surroundings as they approached the borders of the forest on one of the smaller roads.

“So here it is,” a burly man commented as they paused. “Sherwood Forest. Home of the great Robin Hood.” The men chuckled.

“Big enough to share,” a second man with lank blond hair and a scrappy beard.

“Dan is right,” a broader man with a scar across his left cheek grinned. “Plenty of room, plenty of opportunities to share.” The first man nodded.

“And unlike Hood, we aren’t going to be redistributing any wealth,” he scoffed. Then he glanced around. “Word has it that Hood concentrates much of his attention on Nottingham and the villages closer to the castle. That suggests his camp is in the southern half of the forest. So we scout the north and find ourselves a handy base of operations before we start helping ourselves to what’s on offer.” There were a few cheers and ribald remarks.

“Good one, Harold!”

“And remember,” the burly man, Harold, snapped. “No attention. That was where we went wrong in Cheshire. Too much tomfoolery and too little discipline. This time, we won’t allow the Sheriff to get the drop on us. I have a plan boys-and then we’ll help ourselves to whatever we want!”

oOo

“It’s the third one in a fortnight,” Gisborne reported, inspecting the Sheriff carefully. It was impossible to predict what the man would do, how he would react to any news but Vaisey seemed in a reasonable mood…for now.

“Oh?” The tone was sharp.

“Bothamsall, Kirton and Annesley,” Gisborne reminded him flatly. “All smaller manors to the north of the county. All raided at night with brutality and decisiveness. The survivors report about a dozen, with no hesitation to cut down anyone who resisted.” His jaw tightened. “They took everything. And they mistreated the women.”

The implication hung between the two men.

“So not Hood,” Vaisey smirked. “Poor Gisborne. Your troubles just multiplied. Or maybe news of your incompetence has spread so outlaws from all over the country are coming here for an easy life.” Predictably, the younger man’s face twisted in a snarl.

“I will catch them and hang them in the castle, my Lord,” he snapped. The Sheriff gave a sarcastic laugh and began clapping ironically.

“Oh bravo, Gisborne,” he scorned. “Very moving. I’m sure the dead and homeless will feel comforted beyond measure at the news that Sir Guy of Gisborne, the man who with the entirety of Nottingham’s forces cannot capture six scruffy outlaws, is on the case! I am certain everyone will sleep so much easier in their beds!”

If looks could kill, Vaisey would be dead a hundred times over already but this one carried real hatred. Gisborne’s steely glare locked on the man and he lowered his voice.

“I will capture them and I will stop this,” he swore.

“Yes, yes-off you go,” the Sheriff told him, dismissing him with a wave of the hand and reaching for a grape. “Do go away and arrest someone, Gisborne. You’re giving me indigestion.”

Turning on his heel, Gisborne stomped from the office, slamming the door behind him, his mind roiling with rage and hatred. Over the last three weeks, the Sheriff had literally treated Gisborne as his errand boy, running him ragged and sending him to every corner of the county on the slightest of reasons. Every project he had was being delayed by the deluge of demands from his master and almost every waking moment was consumed by Vaisey’s orders. He slept more often than not in the castle and was shaken awake at dawn by a guard bearing Vaisey’s orders that he had issued the previous night, after his subordinate had collapsed into bed. And he hadn’t seen Marion for a week. Yet, despite every effort he had given, he was treated like dirt, like some incompetent guard to be dismissed with a wave. His fists clenched and he stormed round the corner and out into the cloistered walkway-and almost bowled Marion over.

He blinked, automatically shooting out an arm to steady her. She startled as she started up into his scowling face and he smoothed his expression, trying to wipe the anger from his eyes.

“Marion!” he said, his tone surprised. “I-I…”

“Sir Guy,” she said, her tone surprised.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, against wishing he could sound at least partly genuine. He was but he was still so full of anger than he could be praying and it would sound like a death threat. “What are you doing here?” And that sounded just like an interrogation! Her eyes narrowed slightly and brows furrowed, her expression cooling. She shook his hand off her as if he were diseased.

“I came to see you, since you are so seldom at home,” she said sharply. He took a shuddering breath and nodded.

“I am sorry,” he said more genuinely. “The Sheriff has had great need of my services.” Then he looked into her face. “But I have missed you. I regret not being able to spend time with you.” Her clear blue eyes stared into his and she frowned.

“You seem upset, Sir Guy,” she commented gently. “Can I help?” His refusal was immediate, the shake of his head regretful.

“Nothing you can do,” he reassured her.

“Is it anything to do with the raids?” she asked and he frowned, his gaze growing more piercing.

“What raids?” he asked bluntly. She pressed her lips together in exasperation.

“Lady Catherine of Annesley wrote to me about the terrible ordeal they suffered-and to inform me of the death of Sir Stephen,” she revealed. “She informed me that at least two other halls had been similarly attacked. I know my father is very concerned.” He reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes with absolute sincerity.

“You have no need to fear,” he promised. “Even though all the manors targeted are in the north of the county, I will assign men to your house to offer additional protection. You have my word that I will not let any harm befall you.” There was a beat and he almost prepared himself for an outburst and then an outright refusal but instead she offered a small smile.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes thoughtful. “I am sure my father will be relieved in light of these horrible events.” He sighed.

“Believe me-I was thinking only of you when I made the offer,” he told her roughly.

“Then I thank you on both our behalves,” she replied, as he withdrew his hands. Then he frowned and reached in the pocket of his coat. A soft velvet pouch was waiting and he drew it out. Her eyes widened.

“Guy…” she murmured, preparing to decline but he stopped her.

“Marion-my ring was lost in the forest to Hood’s men,” he told her gruffly. He pulled his glove off and tipped the bag into his palm. “I am sorry. But…” It was a very similar ring, small semi-precious stones set in silver in an elegant winding pattern. “May I?”

She nodded wordlessly and he slid the ring onto her finger, feeling the fine tremble as he held her hand.

“Thank you,” she said almost soundlessly, a tiny smile lifting her lips.

“My Lady,” he murmured and leaned in to kiss her.

“GISBORNE!” The Sheriff’s voice echoed down the hallway and he froze, wincing. Closing his eyes in resignation, he withdrew, a scowl overtaking his handsome features once more. “When you’ve stopped making googly eyes at your leper, can you get on and do what I ordered you to do? You remember? Catching the outlaws killing people?”

“My Lord,” Gisborne said and bowed his head to Marion before turning away and sweeping away. Marion folded her arms and watched him go. The offer of men was an inconvenience for any missions she intended as the Nightwatchman but it would certainly reassure her father. There was no reason to refuse-except she knew it would make her association with the outlaws harder. And she knew where she was going next: she needed to speak to Robin.

oOo

“None of us have seen anything,” Robin assured her when she arrived at the camp. She folded her arms.

“And yet there are three manors burnt to the ground with twelve dead,” Marion told him sharply. His eyes widened.

“Dead?” Much walked closer. “Who’s dead?”

“A couple of noblemen, three children and seven servants,” Marion told him. “And eight women have been…despoiled.” The other outlaws drifted closer.

“That we do not like,” John growled, his hand tightening around his staff. Allan and Will both looked revolted and Djaq lifted her chin, her dark eyes defiant.

“It is an old tactic,” she commented.

“And not one we should be tolerating here,” Robin said firmly, standing up and pacing. “Three Manors, all in the north of the county, all within easy reach of the forest.”

“It’s a big forest and we know some woodsmen and hunters stay here from time to time,” Will reminded him. “We still haven’t found every nook and hidey-hole yet.”

“Lady Catherine said there were about a dozen men, working efficiently and ruthlessly,” Marion added.

“Meaning they’ve probably been at this game a while,” Allan guessed. “They’ve got their attacks all worked out.”

“So have we,” Much put in. “And we’re better!”

“There is a problem,” Djaq commented. “If these outlaws keep killing people…”

“Then they will think it’s us!” Much guessed and looked around.

“And there will be far more patrols and soldiers making our job much harder,” Allan added.

“Like it needs making any harder,” Will added. Robin clapped him on the shoulder as he walked towards Marion. He offered a smile.

“Marion-one of us will watch Knighton Hall each night as a precaution,” he offered, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking with concern into her eyes. She shrugged him off and rolled her eyes.

“I’ve already got Guy’s men being stationed at the house to protect us,” she told him, seeing his eyes narrow at the name.

“Guy?” he sneered as she rolled her eyes.

“Robin…” she warned and then sighed. “I have no reason to refuse the offer of additional security at a time when the Lords of every Manor are on edge.”

“Have you seen Gisborne’s guards?” Allan commented loudly. “No offence but they’re rubbish. We beat them every time!”

“It’s true,” Will admitted.

“Which is why I’m grateful that you will be watching over me as well,” she said with a sudden smile. “With you and the Nightwatchman keeping watch, there really isn’t much more we can do.” Robin shook his head.

“There is,” he announced, looking round his friends. “We find these outlaws. And we stop them. This is our forest. And we’re not sharing it with a murderous gang.” Marion chuckled.

“You realise that you’ve just called them exactly what the Sheriff calls you every single day?” she teased him as he groaned.

“They are nothing like us!” Much protested but John raised his hand.

“They are outlaws like us-and most people think we’re all the same,” he put in.

“We are pretty weird as outlaws, what with the not killing and handing all the money back to the villagers,” Allan reminded them.

“And while we swore to bring justice to the county and protect it from the Sheriff and Gisborne, we can’t let this go on,” Robin said. He looked around. “So we not only carry on liberating taxes and helping the people: we also protect them against this other outlaw gang.”

oOo

“Where next?” Alfred asked, crouching by the fire and poking the burning logs. A lithe man with mousy hair and a scrappy beard, he was a dangerous knife fighter and a loyal second-in-command. Harold sat back against an oak, chewing from a haunch of venison and considering. The other men were ranged around-save the guard, who was stationed at the high point of their rocky outcrop that they had adopted. Set in a low bowl, their camp was protected and invisible though hard to reach, meaning they had stashed the cart in undergrowth a mile from the camp. They would retrieve it when they decided to move on.

“Well, we’ve raided four now and patrols have increased,” he commented. “Time to change out focus and hit some of the more southerly manors while they expect us to be still in the north.” He gave a broad smile.

“There will be more patrols and closer to the castle means we’re within range of the Sheriff’s guards,” Dan commented, offering Harold the flask of wine they had lifted from their most recent conquest.

“Which is why we go to plan B,” Harold announced with a grim smile. “Our friend tells us that he doesn’t know the patrol schedule-but he knows a man who does. We grab him and we have the key to the manors. And then we can sweep through the richer southern manors, grab enough and then move on before they find our camp.”

“And then we’ll be rich!” Edwin added. He was a heavyset man with dark hair and eyes, a greedy light in his cold eyes.

“Enough. For now,” Dan added. “But it all hinges on getting our man. And him telling us what we need to know.” Harold have a cruel smile.

“That won’t be a problem,” he reassured them. “We’ve never had a problem before-have we lads?” The roars of his men answered him and he chugged the wine. He looked over at Dan.

“We’ll be ready for tomorrow,” his second assured him. “These guards have been given the run-around by Robin Hood’s gang for months. I don’t foresee any trouble. Except for them.”

Harold chuckled.

“Prepare our guest quarters,” he ordered. “And the ditch where we dispose of the body.”

oOo

A few skeins of fog were clinging to the lower lying areas as the train made its way down the North Road. There was the definitely hint of autumn and clammy dew clung to the ferns and brambles by the road.

Gisborne was on edge, though he was a master of appearing indifferent. An excellent horseman, skilled swordsman and ruthless fighter, it was the unknown factors that troubled him. He had doubled the guards on this convoy, a consignment of taxes from the North of England on their way to London. Because of the amount, he was expecting Hood to make a grab for it and though he had ample men and a decoy, he was expecting an attack any moment. He and his men had been sent to meet the taxes at Worksop and now they had the perilous route through the forest until they reached the safety of Nottingham.

His men were grumbling, both at the early start and the fact they had been chosen for this suicide mission. There was no point in shouting at them, though it would certainly make Gisborne feel better, because he didn’t want them flinching at every sound. The tramp of feet, jingle of tack and creak of the wagons seemed cacophonic in the velvety morning quiet but there was no sign of anything untoward. He frowned and scanned the woods, hoping his men were taking as close attention as he urged his horse past the front of the column and peered up the road as it rose slowly and then dropped down. The next part of the road was a prime location for an ambush and he was tempted to ride ahead and check-but that would leave the column out of sight. He was personally responsible for the safety of the taxes-Vaisey had been extremely explicit about that fact-and the jibes about his competence and failures stung his pride more than he could explain. All Gisborne had was what he had earned for himself, through his skills, his determination and his own ruthless ambition. Deep down, he knew his position as Sheriff’s Master-at-Arms, his lands and power were precarious and could be taken from him by a capricious master at a moment’s notice. Only his success and his dedication could ensure he retained what he had won.

He had turned away and was trotting back towards the column when he heard the unmistakeable rustle of leaves and the crack of small branches being broken through as men moved in the undergrowth. Kicking his mount forward, he leaned low over the horse’s neck.

“AMBUSH!” he yelled, reaching the column and wheeling round, drawing his sword and wheeling round again. Ten men burst from the undergrowth, axes and swords raised as they charged the soldiers. All wore grubby but sturdy peasant garb, their faces covered by crude masks. And they moved with experience and determination. His men formed up and met the attack, fighting hard against the lethal attackers. Four men remained by the wagons with the supplies and the heavy box of tax money as their leader galloped forward, his sword swinging and bringing down one of the men. He twisted and parried an axe blow at his leg, urging his horse onward at the attacker. These men were not trained soldiers and he was a knight so it was a relief to allow himself to access his anger and just fight. And no fear of arrows from that traitor, Hood.

He started as arrows whiffled past his shoulder and he glanced up the road-to see Hood’s gang come charging down the slope. Arrows were flying, aimed to scare and wound at best-but Gisborne could already tell, from the toll of men lying unmoving on the ground, that this new gang would not be bothered in the slightest by the threat of an arrow. He turned back-to see an axe flying at his head. he ducked and parried-and as he leaned forward, arms grabbed him and he was hauled from his horse.

He rolled, curling his legs under him as he rose to a crouch, his sword clamped firmly in his fist. He swung, spinning and his blade came away edged with blood. A man yelled and fell as two more emerged from the woods and charged him. In total, there were four men moving in on him while his men were still fighting. He could hear the shouts of Hood and his gang closing and the sound of arrows flying. And then he was up, dagger in his left hand and ready to fight for his life. Giving a yell, he swatted at his horse’s rump and he reared then galloped away, leaving Gisborne with enough room.

“Come on then!” he taunted them, eyes flicking from man to man. “You think you can take me?” A bulky man with an axe in each hand grinned mellowly.

“I know we can!” he sneered as he and the man to his right charged. Blocking and trading blows, Gisborne lunged forward and spun, ducking under a swipe from the men behind him and as he dodged away, striking out, an axe met the back of his head. His vision blurred and he stumbled backwards, trying to make sense of the images before a second blow dropped him on his face.

“HEY!” Robin yelled as two men hauled him up and a bulky man slung him over a shoulder like a sack. The guards were still fighting and the Outlaws fired a volley of arrows that had the unknowns backing away and turning tail to vanish among the trees. But the guards turned and engaged their familiar foes and for a few moments, the gang had a fight on their hands. But not much of one for many of the guards were dead and the rest seemed to have lost their enthusiasm as soon as Gisborne was taken out. They scattered and Robin lowered his sword, almost looking disappointed.

“That was weird,” Will noted, his axe in his hands.

“They didn’t take the taxes,” Allan said and moved towards the strong box.

“It feels wrong,” Djaq agreed, her eyes sweeping over the dead bodies of the soldiers. Robin walked forward, sheathing his scimitar and grimacing.

“These men knew what they were doing,” he commented. “And they don’t have any qualms. These are the men we were looking for. So why did they take Gisborne and not the taxes?”

“Well, it’s not going to be his personality,” Much noted. “Maybe a ransom?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be as much as the taxes,” Robin frowned and then looked over at the strongbox. “Why wouldn’t you take the taxes?”

“Maybe we disturbed them before they could finish the guards?”Djaq added.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Allan argued. “They could have killed Gisborne but they kidnapped him instead. Why would you do that…?”

“…unless that was the plan?” Robin finished, frowning. John stared at him and then burst out laughing.

“Who would want Gisborne?” he guffawed, planting his staff on the ground. “But seriously…” Then he caught sight of Robin’s face. “You are serious.”

“Deadly,” Robin admitted.

“But seriously-why would anyone want Gisborne?” Allan argued.

“Maybe it is an enemy he has made,” Djaq suggested, walking to help Will lever open the tax strongbox.

“No shortage of those,” Will muttered darkly. Robin shook his head.

“Grab the box and those sacks of provisions and let’s leave,” he decided. “But we’ve got our first glimpse of the other gang…” Then he paused. “Grab all of the arrows!” he commanded. “I don’t want the Sheriff to try to pin this on us. These men are playing for keeps. Gisborne isn’t our concern.”

It was only a few moments before the road was empty once more, save the fog that curled around the dead and unconscious guards and two empty carts.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three:**

The arrival of Gisborne’s horse back at Locksley Manor without his rider caused consternation. As per orders left by the master, Thornton immediately sent word to Nottingham but did not unsaddle the horse, though the horse was towelled down and tended as best they could otherwise.

The message in Nottingham caused much more concern and the Sheriff raged and cursed but rapidly called for his carriage and a large contingent of guards who scrambled into the saddle of their beasts as the carriage sped out of the castle. Not sparing the whip, the carriage accelerated and headed directly along the familiar route to Locksley.

They bounced through the village, forcing anyone in their way to scramble to safety and as soon as the wheels topped turning, Vaisey leapt down, followed by his treasurer. He waved dismissively to Thornton who was standing by the door to greet them and instead headed directly to the stables. Finally, he ordered for the horse to be unsaddled-and as they did so, the groom staggered under the weight. The saddlebags were bulging and the Sheriff gave a low, almost sensual moan as he reached in and grabbed a couple of bulging cloth pouches of silver coins. He chinked them together with a happy smile.

“I love the scent of money in the morning,” he sighed and gestured to the groom. The saddle was turned over and Vaisey gestured to the treasurer drew his knife, carving through the leather to release a trickle of silver coins. He smirked.

“All is here but the thin layer of silver we put over the earth and rocks in the chest,” he reported. Vaisey rose, still stroking the bags of money he held.

“You know-for once, one of Gisborne’s plans has actually worked…except he’s not here to see it,” he snarked. “I suppose he’s lying unconscious or tied up in the road.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay-saddle and saddlebags in the coach with me. You three-take the North Road and find the caravan. Bring them back to the castle. The rest of you…with me. Back to Nottingham to put these little beauties safely into the vault.” He leaned close to the bags of money. “What’s that? You want to spend time with your Uncle Vaisey? That can be arranged!” And he sat back on his heels. “And find me Gisborne!”

oOo

Robin swung up into Marian’s room under the cover of dusk and sat on the edge of her bed, breathing hard. It hadn’t taken them long to realise that they had a chest containing very few actual coins and a lot of Sherwood real estate. The supplies were genuine-much to Much’s relief and everyone else’s since there was a mutual agreement everyone was fed up of squirrel stew-but otherwise, the mission had been an unqualified failure. Somehow, they had been outwitted by the Sheriff and by the new gang of outlaws. So they had doubled back and tried to track the other outlaws but the trail had been lost amid a very rocky area that they were unfamiliar with and dejected, they had headed back to the camp.

So despite the presence of ten of Gisborne’s men, it hadn’t been difficult to clamber up and swing into Marian’s window unseen. And here he waited, for he knew that Marion was not in-nor was Sir Edward, in fact. And neither had returned, though he was certain they were expected. The glorious aromas of cooking had wafted up from the kitchen and his mouth was watering with the scents of not-squirrel meat but there was nothing to be gained by stealing anything here. In fact, he had promised Knighton would be protected at all costs.

But the truth was: it wasn't a promise he could honestly hope to keep. He had six men-himself and Djaq included-and they could not be everywhere. In his mind, Robin was still a commander in the Holy Land, his heart still half in Acre with the King he loved and admired but the reality-if he stopped and was brutally honest with himself-was that he was an outlaw, stripped of his titles and lands living in a camp in the forest. He had made a choice, going to war to recapture Jerusalem, but his mental calculations had never ever included loss of his home and lands as part of the deal or the risk. When he landed back in England, he had expected all as it should have been, Thornton and his staff waiting, his affairs in order and Sir Edward still in charge. The reality of life under Prince John’s Regency was infinitely worse and Robin had made another choice-this one irrevocable. Until the King returned, when he would reward his good and faithful friend for all his actions in preventing cruel punishments and over-harsh taxes.

He glanced around. England was a miserable place right now, Nottinghamshire doubly so. The land was green and productive, the craftsmen skilled and cunning and the farmers hardworking and dedicated but there were more beggars and starving people than ever before. The system was wrong and it would have to be changed. He managed a small smile. In his mind, he could hear Marion’s voice speaking the words with the fire and passion that he loved in her, the way her eyes would sparkle as she scolded him for gallivanting in the forest when there was work and injustice closer to home. Maybe it was simply that they saw things differently. He knew war could change a man, make him accept brutalities and harshness that someone who had never been embroiled in the heat of battle would be revolted by-but England was a harsh place too. Limbs, eyes, ears were all removed frequently for minor crimes, hangings were appallingly common and evictions were an everyday occurrence: hardly the stuff of paradise. And Marion had seen this happen. Her father had lost his position and power and she had seen her world descend into chaos. Her opinions were predicated on what good she could do herself, not on strategic dreams that were unachievable.

And that was what made her engagement fo Gisborne such an anathema to Robin. She who loathed the Sheriff and his vicious regime had agreed to marry his right hand man-under duress, he was willing to concede. But she stubbornly stuck to her agreement and was showing signs of…fondness? Tolerance? Acceptance? He shook his head. The day King Richard set foot back in England, he would prevent her wedding and have Gisborne finally executed for his crimes in attempting to assassinate King Richard, killing Robin’s comrades, wounding Robin almost unto death and preventing peace that could allowed many thousands of men to return home with honour much sooner. Robin knew men-friends-had died in the time between the attack and his return from the Holy Land and those deaths need not have happened but for Gisborne’s actions. And though he certainly hadn’t planned the move, he was the weapon that had done the damage and he deserved every penalty available.

_But you know in your heart that the real culprits will probably go free. Noblemen, Counts and Earls and Dukes who see personal advantage in keeping Richard from England…_

_…the country he has barely seen in the five years of his reign. The country whose language he barely speaks. The country he rules but does not consider his home…_

He shook his head again. He knew King Richard as a man of honour, a worthy successor to King Henry and a hero. He knew the King’s brother, John, was a venal and sadistic man who gloried in his position, took and took and took and used men and women as pawns in his cruel games. And who encouraged men like Vaisey and Gisborne to squeeze the English until there was not a drop of blood left in anyone.

“What are you doing here?”

His head snapped up and he saw Marion stared at him from the doorway, her scarf in her hand and a frown on his face. He hadn’t even registered her carriage arrive back or the creak of the door as she had entered. Then he fashioned a lazy smile and rose to his feet, offering a small bow.

“I am your protector for tonight, my Lady,” he said jauntily. She huffed and rolled her eyes, stripping off her kidskin gloves.

“I thought you were meant to be watching from the bushes?” she retorted, folding her gloves and scarf and stowing them neatly in a trunk.

“I needed to check the safety of my charge first,” he smirked. “And see you. Marion…”

“I am fine!” she told him abruptly, her eyes flashing with irritation. “Shouldn’t you be going? If…”

“Who is going to come calling?” he asked her pointedly. “Gisborne?” Her brow furrowed.

“He’s missing,” she revealed. “There was an ambush in the forest and half the men were slaughtered. They found a couple of your arrows, Robin. Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” he replied too swiftly. She turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest defensively.

“Robin…”

“We don’t have him!” he replied shortly, bristling at the implication. He had moved past his madness…for now. And though there was a small part of him that still wanted to force Gisborne to admit to his crimes, to provide the proof he needed to regain his home and remove the Sheriff, he knew it was not the way. He had sworn to uphold the laws-even if it meant letting his enemy go free for the moment.

“Then who?” she snapped. He exhaled slowly.

“We attacked the tax caravan…but they were already under attack from another gang of outlaws…” he began as Marion began to laugh.

“You came second?” she chuckled as he looked a little irritated.

“This is no laughing matter, Marion!” he retorted. “These men are brutal and vicious. They killed the guards without hesitation.”

“They are outlaws,” she pointed out, her face sobering. “And you are very atypical for an outlaw. Most outlaws are murderous brutes.”

“Or innocent people wrongly condemned by an unjust system,” he reminded her.

“Though outlaws involved in attacking tax caravans and travellers are rarely men just unlucky in stealing a loaf of bread,” she reminded him. He shrugged, conceding her point.

“I think…these are the gang who have been attacking the manors in the north of the county,” he explained slowly. “The ones who have been killing people and…” Marion wrapped her arms around herself and gave a shudder.

“So what happened?” she asked after a sober moment of silence.

“They had attacked the caravan and killed half the guards when we arrived,” he explained. “Gisborne was fighting but he was surrounded by four or five. I think…he had killed or injured a couple of them already. They knocked him out and took him. And then they ran.” She frowned.

“That makes no sense,” she murmured. Robin walked to the window and peered out into the gathering darkness, his sense of unease rising. “Why take Guy? We know the Sheriff wouldn’t pay a ransom and I doubt he has anything equivalent to the tax monies…”

“It was a diversion,” Robin said bitterly. “The tax strongbox contained a shallow layer of coins over rocks. The bulk of the taxes got away.” She stared at him.

“So you were outwitted by this new gang and the Sheriff?” she asked him incredulously. He glared at her.

“I’m having a very bad day,” he grumbled as she managed a smile at his chagrin.

“Though almost certainly not as bad a day as Guy,” she chuckled and then her face fell. “But it still doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe they have a personal grudge against him,” Robin suggested. “There must be plenty of people out there who want him dead.” She nodded reluctantly. “And it would be the answer to your problem…” Her face froze and then she glared.

“Robin! That is a despicable thing to say!” she snapped as he looked at her incredulously.

“Marion-this is Gisborne we’re talking about!” he reminded her shortly. “You know-the man who stole my lands and titles? The man who threatened your father? The man who threatened to hang you and coerced you into agreeing to marry him? The one who goes round cutting off hands and arms and whipping children and women? The Sheriff’s henchman and enforcer? The traitor who tried to kill King Richard?”

“Robin…”

“You think one person, one single person would shed a tear at the news that Gisborne had died? That a murderous treacherous monster is no more? Would you?”

She paled and blinked, her expression passing through perplexity, confusion and shame.

“I would regret it,” she eventually said. “Because there is another side to him. A side that wants to be better. A side that wants to care, to provide. No one is wholly evil-just as no one is wholly good. He has some good qualities…” He gave a scoffing laugh.

“You know, that is such a ringing endorsement of your beloved fiancé!” he scorned, causing her cheeks to colour in shame. “My heart is bleeding at the sundered lovers…”

“Not everyone has the choice of love match,” she reminded him angrily, her jaw set. “And many people marry out of duty, out of desire for security, for politics or alliances or for gain of lands and money.”

“And that’s what you’re doing? Marry Gisborne for his money? For Locksley?”

“Of course not!” she snapped, her cheeks now flushed with anger. “You know why I have to marry. My father…”

“And you could just run away with us…” he suggested, swooping forward and taking her hand. She wrenched it free.

“So you want my father and I to live in the forest? To sleep on the ground? To be cold and hungry and dirty-just to satisfy your sense of satisfaction? I have duty to my father, to our people and to the people of Nottinghamshire to be here and do what I can for them. And running away and playing outlaw won’t do that!”

“So you choose a comfortable bed and Gisborne over me?” he snarked at her.

“I choose protecting my father, Knighton and the people in the villages over running away and indulging your childish fantasies!” she snapped back. “My father is not in good health, Robin. If I vanished and abandoned him, the Sheriff would make him pay. If we both came into the forest, he would sicken and die. Even if the Sheriff didn’t just hand Knighton to one of his lackeys to squeeze like a ripe berry? And who would stand between the Sheriff and the people then?”

“Me,” Robin said flatly. He walked to the window. “I would lock this, Marion. It’s dangerous out there.” She sighed.

“It’s dangerous everywhere,” she reminded him. “Robin-please. We are where we have to be…but it won’t be for ever. And I know…I trust you will find a way out of this. That’s what you always say, isn’t it?” His shoulders slumped.

“Of course,” he said, nodding wearily. “But sometimes, it seems that day is impossibly far away.”

“I believe in you,” she told him gently and walked up to slip her hand into his. “Now go so I can lock this-and then I must go down. I think my father only eats properly when I sit with him.” He nodded and bounced up onto the window frame.

“Then I will see you in the morning…my lady…” he purred, brushing his lips over her knuckles and then jumping into the dark. He gave her a cheeky wave and then ran back into the night before the guards ever noticed.

“Take care, Robin,” she murmured before she slammed the shutters. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before composing herself and heading down for dinner.

oOo

Sheriff Vaisey was perplexed. His men had retrieved the bodies of the guards and the wagons and there was literally no sign of Gisborne, save his weapons, which had been brought back to the castle. He had heard the reports, of course and wondered what the outlaws hoped to achieve by kidnapping his henchman. He knew, of course, that it had been a mistake to trade Gisborne for the Saracen b… _girl_ …but he had allowed himself to be persuaded by Marion of Knighton to retrieve her fiancé. And because Gisborne did have some uses, he had been minded to be generous.

Generosity wasn’t really one of his qualities. Vaisey was a supremely self-centred man, looking out solely for his own interest and that of those he was seeking favour from. Everything was about Vaisey and there was only one being on the planet that he cared for almost as much-and she was safely pursuing her own interests elsewhere…though that reminded him, he really should write one of these days…

But Gisborne wasn’t his concern. Well, technically he _was_ but he was hardly the man’s father or protector, was he? He had found Guy of Gisborne just after his return from France, a landless knight with definite skills in combat, ruthless determination and a burning anger at the unfairness of his lot in life compared to what he considered lesser men. It hadn’t hurt that he was easy on the eye as well, as far as the Sheriff was concerned. It was clear that the younger man was desperate for a chance to prove himself and when Vaisey tested him, he had been pleasantly surprised at the results, for his protege had demonstrated the sort of ruthless brutality and single-minded determination that Vaisey found extremely attractive.

Added to that, Gisborne had a temper and a whole host of weak spots that Vaisey had invested a considerable amount of effort into developing and playing on. It was a constant source of amusement that he could play his henchman like a lute, picking at his confidence, undermining his pride, tweaking his rage and inflaming his insecurities. When he was bored or angry, Gisborne was a good whipping boy to relieve his frustrations-even when he wasn’t tripping over his own feet in Hood’s traps-but the Sheriff always recognised that he still needed to be careful. Too much and he would break his hold, for Gisborne could kill him in a rage if he ever realised that Vaisey would never relinquish his control. But, starved of love and guidance at a critical age, it was simple to massage the younger man’s pride and bolster his ego, reassuring him that he was trusted and valued, that the Sheriff was proud of him, that he would be granted rewards commensurate with his value and the sacrifices he had made in the Sheriff’s service. And it was gratifying that whenever Gisborne showed signs of trying to break free and act independently, all Vaisey needed to do was gently and calmly remind him of what was at stake and that he could end up landless, worthless and penniless…and he surrendered. Power, land and money were Gisborne’s aims and Vaisey supplied all…or could remove them at the snap of a finger. They both knew the score and in the end, Gisborne would fall into line when Vaisey confronted him. He may rage and sulk but he wouldn't risk losing everything he had painstakingly accrued.

Marion was a threat. She also wielded influence over Gisborne and the Sheriff had watched with amusement as she gently and subtly tried to divert his servant towards becoming what she wanted. She was pretty-in that whole English rose sort of way-but she was also stubborn and prideful, imagining she could interfere in politics when she was a woman. She didn’t seem to understand the limitations of her place and that meddling carried consequences. But so far, no matter what she tried, all Vaisey needed to do was drop a few honeyed-or maybe barbed-words in Gisborne’s ear and he folded. Appealing to his self-interest was more powerful than flashing pretty smiles or promising marriage at some nebulous time in the future ‘when the King returned’.

Except the King would never return: Vaisey and his comrades would see to that. Prince John suited their needs far more than so-called ‘good’ King Richard…not that the King was any better than his brother. Both men were selfish in their own ways. John was more obvious-lecherous, bitter, jealous, power-hungry and sadistic-but Richard was a man who was favoured by his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and loved the French lands far more than his northern kingdom. Richard saw England solely as a means to fund his ambitions of glory in the Holy Land and many of the taxes were at his demand…though the people of England saw them being cruelly enforced by local Sheriffs and blamed them or Prince John. It really was unfair-and soon the reckoning would ensure that John took the crown and his favoured officers would reap the rewards for their efforts.

He sat back. Gisborne was missing and the Sheriff realised he should probably be concerned. Yet it was not in his nature to express concern about anything that didn’t directly effect him-and even then, he really couldn’t be bothered to express any sympathy for another. Oh, he knew the noises to make and how to affect an attitude appropriate to the situation but he really feel nothing for anyone else, save his sister. And why should he bother to express false emotions for people who, quite frankly, _bored_ him?So he wasn’t so much concerned that his lieutenant was missing as…irritated. The one time Gisborne succeededin outwitting the outlaws, he managed to get himself captured…again. Well, there would be no ransom or prisoner exchange this time. They would release him when they realised he was of no value to them…or maybe they would kill him. He shrugged. Hood and his men wouldn’t want to have his blood on their conscience, especially if he was a helpless prisoner, so he would be released, sooner or later. And if not…well, there were plenty of young men, eager for a chance to gain power and influence at Vaisey’s side. And while it would be a nuisance to train a new henchman, sometimes it was refreshing to have a new challenge.

Vaisey closed his eyes, his conscience clear. Gisborne’s fate was in his own hands-because his master wouldn’t lift a finger to retrieve him.

oOo

He was cold, stiff, hungry and thirsty. The lump on the back his head had caused a pounding headache and he was feeling mildly dizzy. His shoulders were aching like fire from however many hours standing with his hands suspended above his head and his feet were aching. There was cold stone at his back, a cold breeze caressing his face and the sounds and smells of the forest, telling him that he was outside but he was blindfolded so he couldn’t see a thing. His captors had left him alone since he had regained his senses and he wondered if he was being left to die…but he knew no one went to the effort of capturing someone, especially a knight, unless they wanted something. So they wouldn’t leave him indefinitely.

The crunch of footsteps on the old leaves had his head snapping up and he inclined his head in the direction of the sounds. There was a low chuckle.

“Our guest awakes,” a rough voice scoffed. There was a northern accent, the words rough and no evidence of education. Sounds came closer and rough hands fumbled at the filthy rags bound over his eyes. When it was pulled away-carelessly knocking the painful lump on the back of his head-he blinked at the scarred, grimy face retreating with a cruel smile. Gisborne swallowed against his dry throat.

“Let me go!” he commanded sharply. The man laughed at him.

“Why should we?” he scoffed. “No one knows you’re here.”

“Do you know who I am?’ Gisborne growled. The man chuckled as three more men rounded the trees and lined up menacingly behind the first.

“Well, I hope you’re Sir Guy of Gisborne, Lord of Locksley and Master-at-Arms to the Sheriff of Nottingham,” the scarred man said. “If not, we’ve made a small error.” Then he leaned forward. “But you are Gisborne, aren’t you?” The furious glare and bright hatred in his steely blue eyes told the outlaws the answer and they all started laughing.

“What do you want?” The words were bit out furiously, his eyes flicking from man to man, reading serviceable leather jerkins, worn clothes and the well-worn weapons they all bore. The men facing him were confident and none of them seemed at all perturbed that they held someone of import as their prisoner. And though Hood hadn’t cared either, his reasons were obvious. These men…well, Gisborne couldn’t recognise any of them and that gave him no clues as to what they wanted with him, though there were only a few possible options and none of them boded well.

“Not a ransom, if that’s what you were hoping,” the scarred man sneered. “A little bird tells me that you are the man who runs the patrols round the county, who makes the schedule.” The prisoner frowned and took a quick breath. Anxiety was beginning to bubble in his stomach: he swiftly quashed it and focussed on the outlaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled. _A little bird? Was there a traitor in the castle?_

“Oh, that is so disappointing,” the scarred man said in a mock-regretful tone. “I had hoped you would be co-operative so this could all be over so much more quickly and easily.” Gisborne wasn’t fooled for a second by his tone.

_Easily. Nothing about this is going to be easy._

“I don’t help thieves and outlaws,” he growled. The men laughed again.

“You will,” the scarred man told him. “Everyone breaks eventually.”

His eyes widened and he stiffened. He knew the words, because he had said them or some very similar innumerable times to men held in the Sheriff’s dungeons-prior to subjecting them to torture. It was the last warning before he got down to really hurting them until the pain finally ground down whatever resolve they clung to and they spilled whatever secrets he was charged with uncovering. His face hardened.

“No,” he spat.

“What?” the scarred man sneered.

“No. It won’t work.”

Suddenly the man was in his face, his hand tight around Gisborne’s throat and his foul breath almost making him gag.

“You think you’re the first person we’ve done this with, _Sir_ Guy?” The title was sneered and that insult helped solidify Gisborne’s resolve. “Everyone breaks, no matter how stubborn or arrogant. We’ve set ourselves up so you’re looking to the north for our attacks. So we get your patrol schedule and hit the south, near the castle. There are some very nice prizes there-Houghton, Bridgford, Locksley, Knighton-and while your men are focussing on the north, we’ll hit the southern manors and fill our purses-before we vanish into the night. So we want those schedules.”

_Knighton. Marion and her father. And Locksley-his own home. His servants. His property. What he had worked so hard to gain._

“No,” he ground out through his teeth. “I will not help you.” The scarred man snarled.

“You know-you killed two of our friends during the fight?” he shouted. “We’ve been all over the country and those are our first losses! And my friends here are very keen to share their anger with you.”

“I will watch your executions,” Gisborne growled back. “Release me and leave the country now and I won’t hunt you down like the dogs you are!”

The men facing him laughed scornfully. Everyone knew that neither party would let the other go free-or live.

“You had your chance,” he said, stepping back and allowing the other three men to walk forward. “Just encourage him, boys! He’s not to die and you are not to do anything more…yet. Let’s see how helpful he’s feeling in a few minutes…”


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four:**

Marion was striding through Nottingham Castle with purpose, her scarf flaring behind her and cheeks flushed from the fast ride from Knighton. She had ridden early to Locksley to check that Gisborne hadn’t returned-not that she had expected him to, though there was always the hope. But it meant that when she arrived at the Castle, she had the current facts available. On arrival her heart had sunk when she checked with the guards and they confirmed that Gisborne hadn’t returned. So she set in search of the Sheriff.

In fact, he had just woken and was eating his breakfast when she was shown into his rooms and she found herself feeling self-conscious and curiously exposed as she stood before him. He chewed his mouthful of pork, grease smearing his beard, before he sipped his wine and sat back.

“Lady Marion-what a pleasant way to start my morning. The daily complaint. What is it today?” he said, his usual sarcasm sharpened by the fact he was hungry. She stiffened.

“I apologise, Lord Vaisey-but I did ask if you were accepting visitors,” she replied smoothly. He cocked an eyebrow and awarded her half a point for not being intimidated.

“True,” he admitted, “though I may have changed my mind.” She sighed.

“I merely came to see if you have any news of Sir Guy?” she asked, her tone even.

“No,” he told her bluntly, stretching for the bread. “You want to go _now_?”

“But I thought…” she began.

“You know what happens when women think?” Vaisey asked, chewing. “They get ideas, they open their mouths, hair gets cut, necks get severed…” He looked up, his eyes cold. She took a breath.

“I have checked at Locksley and they have not seen or heard from him and there is no ransom note or demands,” she told him. “Neither have we at Knighton. It seems, as you have not heard from him that he is still missing. He could be hurt or a prisoner or worse…”

“And you care…why?” he asked her directly. “You hardly look as if you are swooning with love for Gisborne. I would have thought you would be delighted if he dropped off the face of the planet and released you from your clearly unwanted betrothal.”

Her cheeks heated and she wondered what she was doing. Vaisey was an evil man with a cruel tongue, a sadistic soul and he delighted in tormenting those around him-but he was a devastatingly accurate observer and he had casually read what Gisborne was blind to, albeit probably wilfully. But the man was missing and though she didn’t want to get married to him, there was a small part of her that would feel guilty if he died and she hadn’t made an attempt to help him. And hating herself that it was more for her than for him that she cared. _Her_ conscience not _his_ life…even though she insisted they were friends.

“You mistake me, my Lord,” she said quietly. “I am content with the arrangement.” Vaisey burst out laughing.

“Content. _Content_?” he guffawed. “Oh that is the most romantic thing I’ve heard! Yes? A Clue: No!” She lifted her chin.

“Are you searching for him?” she asked as he took another bite of his pork.

“Mmm?” he asked. “Oh Gisborne? No.” She frowned.

“But…” she began and he raised a hand sharply.

“I’m afraid we’re stretched too thin, what with these outlaws terrorising the Shire and taxes falling behind as usual,” he told her, his mouth full. “I could send all our men into Sherwood and maybe they would emerge eventually with him…but do you want me to leave our villages and manors at the mercy of these murderous raiders?” She paused and took a slow breath, recalling the horrific tales the survivors had told her. “I thought not. So sorry, Bye bye…” She paused and then nodded. There was no point appealing to his better nature because they both knew he didn’t have one. For whatever reason, he had decided that Gisborne was on his own. But as she turned, the door opened and a decorous solid man entered, his tunic a decorous deep blue with gold embroidery, an ornate belt around his thick waist. He bowed low to her and grabbed her hand, kissing it. She wrenched her hand free with a look of disgust.

“Ah, there you are!” the Sheriff commented dryly. “Lady Marion-this is Sir Maurice Du Beque. He is kindly helping me out as acting Master-At-Arms until Sir Guy resurfaces…or I decide he’s deserted his post and replace him anyway.” Du Beque’s smile was like a shark, scenting prey as he nodded to her.

“Do not fear, Lady Marion,” he said. “I am sure that we will soon retrieve your friend…”

“My fiancé!” she snapped, grateful she was wearing his ring for this trip. His expression flickered for a moment.

“Of course,” he said. “My apologies, Lady Marion. I will redouble my efforts to rescue Sir Guy and I am certain he will soon be back with his loving fiancee and friends.” She nodded curtly and stalked past him, storming down the corridor, her chest heaving as she tried to control her anger. _Double nothing was still nothing-and that was precisely what was being done._ And she found herself angry on his behalf. She had warned him that he was probably the most hated man in the Shire for his actions in serving the Sheriff but what she had not realised was that his own team wouldn’t lift a finger to help him either. Gisborne valued loyalty above all and had given his loyalty to Vaisey, above decency, honour and reason. He had done horrible, unspeakable things for the Sheriff through that loyalty-and to see it repaid with…a replacement when he had not even been searched for twisted something inside her. And the memory of Du Beque’s smile made her shudder.

Furious, she stalked down, gathered her horse and galloped out of Nottingham, heading directly for Sherwood Forest.

oOo

“NO!”

“I have to say, I agree,” Much added to Robin’s vehement reply.

“Him, we do not help,” John added gruffly, his eyes narrowed.

“Look, Marion-much as we like you, Gisborne has done pretty awful things to everyone including most of us. I think he’s tried to kill all of us several times over. Why would we lift a finger to help him?” Allan’s words had the others nodding.

“Sorry-we can’t help,” Will agreed. Marion folded her arms and glared at them all.

“I’m sorry-I thought you wanted these other outlaws out of the forest?” she asked them all sharply. “I thought you wanted to stop the people who had raided those manors…”

“Don’t want to be funny but why are we worried about some men who are stealing from the rich? Isn’t that what we do, after all?” Allan put in, his eyes swinging between Marion and Robin.

“What?” Marion’s voice was outraged. “These men attack Manors and they don’t hesitate to kill. They’ve attacked five manors now-and there are nineteen people dead-four of noble birth and fifteen who aren’t. Weren’t. Those fifteen were servants, stewards, grooms, people who worked there and were slaughtered for being in the way or trying to protect their homes. More women were attacked and raped! The Sheriff isn’t interested as long as taxes keep flowing in-but in the mean time, these men are still killing people.”

“But if they weren’t nobles…”

“I am of noble birth-and so is Robin,” Marion pointed out.

“But he’s one of us,” Will replied as she rolled her eyes. “And you…well, you’re sort of one of us, what with being the Nightwatchman…”

“People are dying and being hurt-whatever their birth,”Robin said slowly, rising to his feet. His eyes drifted to the tree where they had tied Gisborne during his captivity and his face hardened. “And if we want to stop the Sheriff’s men perpetrating these acts, we should also stop outlaws who are hurting our people.”

“The Sheriff doesn’t seem bothered,” Marion said slowly. “He’s appointed someone…a Sir Maurice Du Beque…to take over Guy’s role…”

“He didn’t waste any time,” Allan commented.

“No, he didn’t,” Robin murmured. “Gisborne has been glued to his side ever since he came to Nottingham, does every dirty job he asks and has gathered every tax the Sheriff has come up with…but he’s missing one day and suddenly he’s replaced.”

“Everyone knows the Sheriff is evil,” Will murmured. “Why are we surprised?”

“Why did they want Gisborne in the first place?” Djaq murmured, her face creased with concentration. “They targeted him on the raid. Not the money.”

“Sir Maurice Du Beque?” Much murmured. “Master! You remember him? He was the knight who ran down that young squire and claimed he just got in his way…” Slowly, Robin nodded.

“He had argued with the boy’s master earlier that evening and he was heard making threats,” he murmured. “The boy’s master, Sir Friedrich of Ulm, did not accept the explanation and petitioned for recompense but Sir Maurice vanished, claiming he was ill and needed to return home. But as he had left the Holy Land without the blessing of his King, he wasn’t granted any honours…”

“Well, that’s great,” Will sighed.

“So not a trade up from Gisborne then,” Allan added gloomily.

“From what I heard, he’s much worse,” Much told him cheerfully. “The other squires and servants all knew he was vicious, cruel and would hack his way through his own squires if he thought it would gain him glory, especially at someone else’s expense.”

“That…is not encouraging,” Djaq agreed.

“Are you saying…that the Sheriff has found someone _worse_ than Gisborne and appointed him?” John asked slowly. Robin reluctantly nodded.

“Robin-there is something going on here and we need to find these outlaws and stop them,” Marion began but his eyes focussed instantly on her.

“No,” he said. “We will-not you. This is dangerous…” She scoffed.

“And my work as the Nightwatchman isn’t?” she asked him. “If Sir Maurice is as bad as you say, the people will be needing my help even more. We cannot have these outlaws making things even worse. You have to find them…or I will.”

“Marion-no!” Robin snapped. “If they do have Gisborne, he could recognise you…”

“Either you go look for him…them…or I will!” she told him directly, looking sternly into his eyes. “From what is sounds like, he is the lesser of two evils…”

“Just,” Much amended.

“…and the group of raiders who have killed nineteen people and hurt far more want him for something,” she continued, ignoring the interjection. She looked around and met a wall of sceptical faces. “We need to get him away from there and stop them…” She turned to Robin. “Or I will.”

There was a collective groan. He flung his hands in the air in defeat.

“Alright!” he said in exasperation. “We’ll go. But we have to send someone back every evening to protect Knighton Hall. Agreed?”

“Robin, there’s no…”

“Agreed?” he insisted, his voice stern. She sighed.

“Agreed,” she said. “And…”

“And if we stumble over Gisborne, we’ll point him in the right direction,” he said reluctantly. She nodded.

“Thank you,” she said and sighed. “I need to get back. My father is speaking to the farmers and he has asked me to attend with him.” She gather the reins and then swung into the saddle. There was a genuine smile on her lips. Robin smiled back as she wheeled away and galloped off. There was a pause as she vanished from sight down the slope.

“You aren’t going to do what you said?” Will asked. “You know…Gisborne?” Robin bowed his head.

“I gave Marion my word,” he conceded with immense reluctance.

“But we…”

“I gave Marion my word,” he repeated shortly. “Which means for all of us.” There were audible groans once more. Allan threw his hands up in frustration.

“A few weeks ago he wanted to cut his throat or torture him in cold blood-and now we’re going to rescue Gisborne?” he grumbled. “Can I join another outlaw gang?”

“Willingly,” Will told him.

“I don’t think you’d like the other one,” Robin told him dryly.

“Why?”

“Because by now, they would almost certainly have killed you.”

There was a chilly silence.

“Then what does that mean for our chances of finding Gisborne?” Much asked.

“Hope that he has something they want,” Robin said.

oOo

A bucket of cold water was dumped on him to wake him and he started, grimacing and struggling but he was as securely bound as he had been before. Shaking his head to get his sodden hair off his face, he looked up, eyes filled with hatred and face set. His captors had stepped back, observing him and he grimaced as he tried to take a deep breath before clenching his teeth and straightening up.

“How yer feeling?” a man with lank blond hair asked, pacing back and forth in front of the prisoner.

"Is that the best you could do?” Gisborne sneered, taking another breath. He had taken worse beatings as a squire and though he was pretty bruised, adrenaline was pushing the pain back. The man chuckled cruelly.

“Not by a long shot,” he laughed, staring at the tall shape standing against the cliff. Gisborne’s coat and leather vest were missing as were his weapons but he was still glaring defiantly. Hands pinioned above his head, he knew he was helpless and at their mercy. “That was for our friends…the rest is just business.” He glanced over his shoulder to the small fire that was burning in the depression. “Harold wants those schedules-and the sooner you tell him, the less you’ll suffer…”

_And the sooner I’ll die._

He glared.

“You’re stupider then you look if you think I’ll help you rob and murder innocent men and women,” he growled, watching the other two men slowly approach.

“Funny-that’s what they accuse you of,” scoffed the second man, solid with a scrappy ginger beard and small cruel eyes.

“I am an officer of the law,” Gisborne snapped, ignoring the tiny jab of shame at the comparison.

“And we’re outlaws,” the blond haired man taunted him. “You see how this isn’t going to work.” Then he drew his knife and carefully slit Gisborne’s undershirt open, the blade tickling without cutting as it slid across his skin. He nodded and the third man, a heavyset man with shaggy brown hair and narrow green eyes, rose, drawing his skinning knife from the flames, the blade glowing a menacing orange. Gisborne stilled, his eyes locked on the approaching hot metal and vividly reminded of that time, only a few weeks earlier, then he had been tied to a tree further south in the forest with Robin Hood approaching him with his sword. He could recall the sterile scent of hot metal, the ferocious heat as it hovered over his cheek, the anticipation of pain and the insane gratitude that Hood’s irritating servant kept babbling long enough to make the man reconsider…the torture, at least.

There was no manservant here. So he gritted his teeth as the glowing dagger hovered over his neck.

“When are the patrols for Locksley and Broughton?” the outlaw demanded.

“I cannot remember,” he lied…and then he heard a hiss as the dagger was slapped against his collarbone. An instant later, the pain arrived and he bit down hard on his lip and gritted his teeth against the howl of pain. It seemed like an eternity before the the metal was taken away but the pain remained, insistently throbbing and burning horrendously. His head sagged forward, his chest heaving with pain and the sudden relief, though knowing it was only temporary. The blond man gave a sarcastic laugh.

“Knighton and Nettlestone-when do the patrols go through?” he demanded.

_Not Knighton. Never Knighton._

“Go to Hell!” he spat. The man pulled a fresh knife out of the fire and walked forward.

“Enjoy!” he sneered and slapped the scorching metal against his chest.

This time Gisborne screamed.

oOo

The soldiers trotted into Knighton flanking a wagon and Du Beque, sitting proudly on his impressive grey charger. Marion frowned as she walked towards the centre of the village, wondering why they had come, a sense of concern rising in her chest. Gisborne had been through collecting taxes only the previous week and Knighton was due a respite…but the new man was smirking as he unleashed his men on the cottages and workplaces. Marion frowned before she walked forward towards the knight.

“Sir Maurice!” she called, drawing his icy gaze on her. He inclined his head like a Prince.

“Lady Marion!” he greeted her, his rich blue velvet riding gauntlets tightening around the reins. “To what do I owe this honour?”

“What is going on here?” she demanded, ignoring the pleasantries. Du Beque offered his shark-like grin.

“Taxes,” he explained as she frowned.

“But Sir Guy collected them last week,” she protested. The men attempted a sympathetic expression and pressed a hand to his chest.

“It seems that Sir Guy was less than diligent in collecting the dues owed by your village,” he smirked. “I pointed out this laxity to the Sheriff. He was unimpressed in the extreme and was delighted when I volunteered to correct Gisborne’s incompetence.”

Listening to him, Marion felt her skin crawl. The implication that Gisborne had slacked in collecting taxes was ridiculous, for he was never anything other than ruthless and obeyed his master unswervingly. No, the pretext was weak and what was more likely was that Du Beque had offered to collect ‘extra’ taxes-and blame Gisborne for the need for the illegal collection. Her head snapped round as she heard screams and her mouth dropped open as she saw a cottage on fire, the flames already licking through the low thatched roof. She stared.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “These people have done nothing wrong! They aren’t behind on their taxes and…”

“And Gisborne has been lax,” Du Beque sneered. “These people are taking advantage. It takes a strong hand to remind them that taxes are not optional. That a new regime is in place.” He gestured and a soldier grabbed Marion from behind, lifting her from the ground.

“Get off me!” she yelled.

“Lady Marion is overwrought,” Du Beque told the man, his eyes hard. “Take her back to her house and see that she remains there until we have finished. Clearly the reality of our work is too stressful for her gentle soul.” He bowed his head perfunctorily. “Good Day, my Lady!”

And because there were soldiers everywhere and she was on her own, Marion had no choice but to allow herself to be hauled back to her home and remain inside until the soldiers had moved on. Sir Edward stood at her side, watching them ride away.

“Marion?” he asked softly, seeing his daughter seething and resting a comforting hand on her rigidly crossed arms.

“The Sheriff and Du Beque are claiming Guy was going easy and not collecting enough taxes,” she said in a tight voice, her eyes trailing over the faint column of black smoke rising from the burnt out cottage. “It’s a lie to falsely collect more…”

“And Sir Guy is not here to defend himself,” her father noted.

“I think Sir Maurice is auditioning for Guy’s post,” Marion murmured baldly. “The Sheriff isn’t even looking and he’s already effectively found a replacement.”

“A worse man,” Sir Edward commented with a sigh, moving towards the door of the house. “I suppose there is no point in asking you to be careful?” Her eyes widened. “Go. I will see to the villagers. You join your friends and see if you can locate him.” He grimaced. “I never thought I would see the day when I would be hoping that Sir Guy returns.”

oOo

He awoke, lying on his side with his hands roped behind his back and his legs also tied.Many years of uncertainty and service to Vaisey had meant he was usually able to wake quietly, without any great movement and as he opened his eyes, he was able to see only one man, slumped by the fire. He was already aware, from his long spells left alone, that he was imprisoned some way from the main camp, for he couldn't see or hear anything of the other men in the gang. He lifted his head a tiny fraction to check and then let it slump into the debris of old leaves and dirt.

He supposed he should be grateful that they had cut him down, for they could have left him hanging from the rocks he was tied to but as pain shot through him, he really didn’t have an ounce of gratitude in his body. Everything hurt, the intense burning from his wounds not diminished by however long he had been unconscious. He bit his lip and grimaced, moving his arms slightly to try to ease the cramped muscles-and then he felt the stone brush his fingers. Concentrating, he stretched back and felt the rocky wall he had been held against just there. Glancing at his jailer-who appeared to be snoring-he cautiously shuffled back an inch and began to rub the ropes around his wrists against the stone.

He was pretty certain he hadn’t said anything-apart from screams and curses that would probably offend even the most foul-mouthed of sailers. He was no innocent and he had tortured men-more than he ever cared to number-for Vaisey but this was his first time on the receiving end. Not that his life had been easy. Driven from his home with Isabella, his younger sister on that horrific night when they had lost everything, relying on the dubious and limited generosity of distant kin, doing whatever had to be done to protect her and himself… He blinked. This wasn’t helping either. But what else had he to do but listen to the demons that haunted him, to embrace the pain because that was what primarily motivated him? Loss of everything, the dishonour, the taunts, the sneers. Landless, worthless, friendless…he had heard the words and he used the anger and pain to harden his heart and armour himself against the sins he committed. Nothing in his life had been easy. Even when he was a squire, earning his spurs, nothing had fallen for him. He had no family to ease his way, no father to appeal to old friends and comrades so he had been forced to take what he could-a master who taught him to fight and ride but who had treated him like the dirt he considered him to be. A master who laughed at him claiming the name of a manor that no longer existed, who was never satisfied with his skills and who had finally cast him aside when he had rebelled.

He had never made that mistake with Vaisey…at least not until recently. And only for Marion.

It was dark and late and he was exhausted. He was beyond thirsty, his mouth dry from screaming and lack of fluids but he continued rubbing until finally, he felt something give.

He stilled. He was too close to risk any mistakes so he lay still, closing his eyes for a few moments and listening for any signs of movement. The guard by the fire was still snoring up a storm and after listening for an age, he opened his eyes once more. This time, he carefully began to move his arms and pull the ropes looser until he could tug his arms cautiously free. Then he paused again, quietly moving his head a fraction to check there was no-one else in sight. And then, so slowly it hurt, he curled up until he could bring his arms round to fumble at the ropes around his legs, picking at the knots with numbed fingers until finally…finally…the ropes were slack.

He moved his head again, chancing a look up to check here were no guards on the outcrop but there was no one obvious. His man was still asleep and there was going to have to come a moment when he finally took his life in his hands and chanced it. And when he left, it would have to be quick and decisive, running from the pool of firelight and into the blackness of the night-time forest. He took a quick breath, listened one last time-then moved, sitting up and biting back the groan of pain. His legs were stiff-his whole body felt as if it had seized up-but he ripped the ropes away and scrambled to his feet, pressing against the rock and taking one last breath before he ran for it.

He had hoped to get further but he had only made maybe a dozen yards into the trees when shouts went up. Not that it mattered because the surge of adrenaline had him accelerating away. It didn’t matter if every movement hurt because he knew if he was caught, that was it. He would never get another opportunity and they would kill him one way or another. So he sprinted through the darkened forest, seeing by the moonlight that filtered through the branches, praying he wouldn’t take a bad step and break his ankle or his neck. Though the latter wouldn't matter because if he fell, he was dead anyway…

He could hear crashing behind him, the sounds echoing in the silent forest. He thought he saw something glide across his vision in the darkness, a soft hooting telling him it was an owl but the sounds of pursuit were growing closer. He skidded down a steep slope, steps ungainly as he tried not to overbalance and when he hit the floor of the wide gully, he almost immediately had to clamber back up the other side, breaths harsh as he topped the rise and scrambled on again. There were shouts to his left and he wondered if he had been seen-but there was no point in speculating. All he could do was push on and pray he could evade them. After all, Hood’s men seemed to be able to escape his soldiers pretty much every time: why should it be so hard for him to escape a gang of murderous ruffians in the dark?

But he knew. Because fate, luck, God…whoever…hated him.

His foot skidded on a stone and this time he tumbled down the next slope, hitting the floor of the shallow valley hard. Breath knocked out of him and his wounds impacted, he took a few moments too long to lever himself up and they saw him.

"GET HIM!”

A jolt of what was definitely fear shot through him and he staggered away. He could hear them closing but the dark was still dense in the valley and he stumbled down, vanishing into the shadows. He could hear them closing but there was a gap in the rocks to his left and pausing only for a second, he dived sideways and crammed his tall frame into the cramped space. It took all his determination to remain absolutely still and calm his breathing. Pressed as hard back against the rock, praying hard, he heard the men run by, yelling and he almost relaxed…but one paused, not six feet from him and turned. He clamped his mouth shut, closed his eyes and tried not to breathe at all. The outlaw took a step closer before he turned away and ran off down the slope once more.

He didn’t give a huge sigh of relief because they could still be nearby. It was almost totally black in the crevice and once his breathing had calmed, he closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. The chances of them finding him in the nighttime forest was small but he needed to put more distance between himself and the outlaws before dawn if he was to stand any chance of survival. He had hunted men before-serving Vaisey practically included it in the job description, notwithstanding those times when the Sheriff would haul some unfortunate out of the dungeons and set them running into the forest before the hounds and some obnoxious noble friends of the Sheriff would ride after them. Gisborne was always careful to control his face during those hunts-because even he had his limits. Murdering, torturing, and brutalising peasants to attain or maintain power or gather wealth was justifiable…probably, if you put aside almost all pretences you were a decent and compassionate man…but hunting a man to death for sport was beyond even his threshold of depravity. In his heart, Gisborne was still a knight with some shreds of honour and deep in his heart, he knew that he really wanted to become more like the man that Marion would accept.

He rested his head back against the rock. Just a couple more moments and then he could move on.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five:**

“Nothing?” Robin’s tone was weary.Djaq and Will shook their heads.

“No one has seen anything,” Will confirmed. “But a few of them were worried when they heard about the new gang.” Robin sighed.

“Not being funny but it’s a big forest so chances of anyone seeing him are pretty small,” Allan volunteered, poking the fire. He glanced up at John, his partner on the search.

“And we aren’t the only gang in the forest,” the big man reminded him. “And can’t see any of the others helping us get Gisborne back…”

“We’re not trying to get Gisborne back!” Much corrected him irritably. “We’re trying to stop this new gang because they are killing people without mercy. Innocent people.” There were grunts of agreement as everyone settled by the fire. The outlaws had split up into pairs and scoured the vast expense of trees north of their camp, because they knew for sure the new gang weren’t anywhere near the southern villages or the castle, for they frequented the areaenough to be certain they would notice any new camps. Of course, they weren’t the only inhabitants of the forest and there were a surprising number of people who were forced to seek refuge in the trees. Even over the time that he had been back in England, Robin had noted the increase as the Sheriff and Gisborne had ruthlessly squeezed the people of Nottinghamshire, burning homes, stealing livelihoods and outlawing men, women and children. Little knots of people living in various parts of the forest, hunting and seeking shelter. The outlaws helped them, of course, and these refugees had willingly volunteered what they knew-which was precious little. Though a few had noted some movement much further north towards the rocky outcrops much further north of the river.

Robin glanced over his friends. They were brave, loyal and decent, all harmed by the actions of the Sheriff and Gisborne and it was too big a step to assume they would be willing to help the man. Honestly, Robin didn’t want to help the man because he knew beyond all doubt, that Gisborne was a traitor. He had admitted it when Robin had first seen his scarred tattoo and there had been no denial at all during their long encounter on the King’s birthday. And he knew, if the others had let him, that he could have forced Gisborne to admit his guilt before them. Maybe then, they would have allowed him to end the traitor and grant him punishment for his crimes.

And maybe this was it, God’s punishment for his sins against an anointed King. Maybe every second Gisborne suffered in captivity was the first part of his penalty-though the rest would be meted out as he writhed during an eternity in Hell. Yet though the thought was probably correct, a part of Robin felt cheated. He recalled the younger Gisborne, the saturnine young man who Robin had wronged and who had lost everything in the fire that had killed his parents and Robin’s father. And maybe Robin should have spoken up for the two orphans and not allowed them to be driven away. Maybe Guy would have become a different person if he hadn’t been cast out after he had lost his parents, his home and his land. But Robin had been seven, a young boy who had just lost his father and who was angry and devastated and grief-stricken. How could he have opposed the bailiff?

_Everything is a choice._

And he had always sanctimoniously thrown that at Marion, assuming that the virtuous choice was the only one that could be made. That she should be selfless and throw away her father’s life, her home, everything and be happy to live in the forest, losing her father and her inheritance because he had. That losing everything was something to be celebrated.

He hadn’t made that choice for the Gisbornes. He hadn’t shown compassion or courage or decency. He had chosen revenge because his father had died in their house and by making them go away, he wouldn’t have to be reminded. He could have welcomed them to Locksley, shared his pain of loss and supported them until they could work out what to do. And wouldn’t life have be so very different then? For them, for him…maybe for Nottingham?

_Everything is a choice._

But not all choices are good. And when you have a choice, sometimes all you got was a choice between which was the least worst option. Sometimes, there was no good choice. And how did he know what options Gisborne had been given in his life? Where was his sister? Maybe the fact that she was no longer with him represented another bad choice he had been given?

He shook himself. Marion had really managed to get into his head, making him consider that even Gisborne could possibly be a victim somewhere in this story. The man had plenty of choices along the line and his continued service to the reprehensible Vaisey just confirmed that he was irredeemable.

“Robin?”

He blinked and looked up into Djaq’s eyes. She was offering him a bowl of some stew that Much had left to simmer before they had gone and he absently accepted it, hoping it wasn’t squirrel…again.

“Are you alright?” The Saracen woman’s dark eyes were concerned. He nodded.

“Marion is right,” he admitted, poking the stew absently.

“About what?” she asked.

“About stopping these men. About needing to know why they need Gisborne.” She grimaced.

“He has caused so much death and suffering,” she said slowly. “You think he should be rescued?” He huffed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted reluctantly. He was the leader and they all respected his position, his authority. It was rare he admitted any lack of decisiveness. “Be in no doubt: he is a villain and he deserves everything they do to him. He deserves to die. But Marion was right as well: he deserves to be served justice, in the full light of the sun so all his crimes and treachery are exposed. And in doing that, maybe we can expose the Sheriff and the other traitors who plot against King Richard.” He paused and took a deep breath. “But if Gisborne dies at the hands of outlaws, it hands the Sheriff very good reasons to crack down even harder on the Shire. To execute anyone suspected of collaborating with or helping us. To raze villages to the ground for defying him. Unless we return him alive, Vaisey will make life a hundred times worse for everyone.”

“You’re right,” Marion said, walking towards him. She nodded to Djaq and stopped a few feet from her childhood friend. “He’s already found a replacement-and he seems to be even worse.”

“What?”

“Sir Maurice Du Beque collected additional taxes from Knight, Nettlestone and Clun today,” she told him. “He and the Sheriff are claiming Gisborne wasn’t doing a good enough job.”

“That’s rich,” Allan commented, frowning.

“They only collected taxes last week,” Will noted.

“Gisborne not doing a good enough job?” John growled. “He’s taken everything for the last four years. The Sheriff would have sacked him long ago if he wasn’t getting enough money out of the villagers.”

“Du Beque,” Much said. “It will be his idea, mark my words.” Marion nodded.

“And he’s setting himself up to be even tougher than Gisborne,” she reported.

“Is that even possible?” Allan asked. Robin narrowed his eyes.

“Marion?”

“He seems to enjoy hurting people-and he had me carried back to the house when I protested,” she admitted. There were audible intakes of breath.

“So he’s not as enamoured of you as Gizzy,” Allan commented. Will winced.

“Gizzy?”

“Easier than saying ‘Gisborne’ every time-and we seem to be talking about him a lot,” he noted brashly.

“He’s got his eye on being the Master-at-Arms and I am sure the Sheriff will hand him Locksley,” Marion reminded them. Robin scowled…and then he crouched down, marking a rough map of Sherwood on the ground using a stick. He swiftly marked several ‘X’ marks by the upper eastern border.

“These are the manors that have been attacked,” he began, thinking out loud. “The attacks were all done at night, usually around or after bedtime when resistance would be least. The attackers travelled by foot so there is a limit to how far they would travel for an attack…and back, laden with plunder…”

“I think I get it so far,” Will murmured. “There is a limit to where their camp can be.” Robin nodded.

“We’re too far south for those attacks…and their camp must be here…” he murmured, marking a largish circle further north than where they had looked.

“We don’t know that area,” John admitted gruffly. He had been outlawed far the longest and had lived in Sherwood for some years “But it’s steep, rocky and there are lots of caves and hiding places. You could hide a dozen or a score easily there…”

“These men have done this before,” Djaq reasoned. “The attacks are co-ordinated and brutal. Such men take what they can and move on before the guards can catch up with them…”

“They’re running out of manors to attack locally and its a much longer walk to the others, further south…” Robin commented and frowned. “These are greedy and cruel men,” he murmured. “Why concentrate on the northern part of the Shire? Everyone knows the wealth is much closer to Nottingham…”

“Maybe they are just very cautious?” Will suggested.

“Yeah-they know when not to push their luck,” Allan added.

“If they didn’t want to push their luck, they wouldn’t kill,” Robin murmured. “No, these men are ruthless and they want more than they have.”

“Why Guy?” Marion murmured. “What is special about Guy?” Everyone stared at her.

“Tall, dark and Master-at-Scowls?” Allan suggested.

“Sheriff’s right hand man?” Djaq offered.

“No ransom request,” Marion countered.

“So what does he do?”

“Collect taxes?”

“Terrorise people?”

“Cuts off hands and tongues?”

“Tortures people?”

“Commits treason?”

Marion cast Robin an exasperated look for the last one.

“Abandons babies?”

“Exploits miners?”

“Kills people?”

“What’s his job?” Marion murmured. “Master-at-Arms. Head of the Sheriff’s guards, trains and leads the patrols and…” Robin stiffened and leaned forward.

“What if you knew when every patrol was going to visit each village?” he murmured. “What if you could time your attacks for maximum effect? What if you hit several manors close together?”

“The soldiers wouldn’t know where to go,” Marion murmured. Robin’s stick slid further south.

“And what if you were looking north because that was where all the trouble was?” he asked.

“The Sheriff said something similar,” she admitted. “He’s diverted soldiers to the northern half of the Shire. Guy’s men are only stationed at Knighton because they answer to him and not the Sheriff. If Du Beque hears, he’ll have them pulled for his own purposes.”

“That’s why they need Gisborne,” John murmured.

“So he does have something they need,” Allan commented. Marion’s eyes widened.

“Then we have to…” she began but Robin shook his head and gestured. Twilight was falling.

“It’s too late tonight,” he told her reasonably. “In the morning, we’ll take the horses and head north. We’ll search until we find him…”

“I’m coming!” she told him and he sighed in exasperation.

“No, Marion!” he snapped. “It’s too dangerous…”

“You cannot stop me coming-as the Nightwatchman,” she pointed out. “But wouldn’t you rather I came with you than rode up there alone?” There was an awkward pause.

“She has a point, master,” Much commented.

“Shut up, Much,” Robin growled.

“You should listen to him,” John told him gruffly. “Another set of eyes would be helpful-and she’s going anyway.” Robin looked round his gang and saw that everyone was looking at him.

“Be here at dawn,” he snapped and she nodded, flashing a smile. “Who’s on duty tonight?” Djaq raised a hand.

“I am,” she said. “I’ll go with Marion.”

“Take care,” he advised. “We don’t know when they’ll move but I don’t think they’ll wait too long…”

oOo

“Any news of Gisborne?” The Sheriff’s tone was a little bored as he intricately peeled a grape. A trembling serving boy held a salver with a flask of wine, a goblet and the grapes by his elbow. Du Beque snorted.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly.

“Good job, by the way,” Vaisey said, squeezing the grape and watching the pulp splatter between his fingers. “Almost as good as Gisborne managed last time out.” His cold eyes swung and saw-as expected-the new man bridle at the comparison.

“The peasants seem too feisty,” he retorted. “In my last post, they were properly cowed…”

“A little spirit always provides some interest,” the Sheriff noted, plucking a new grape and starting to peel it.

“One of the local nobles spoke out against me,” Du Beque snapped, causing Vaisey to smirk.

“You know, if the name isn’t Lady Marion, I’ll be disappointed,” he said and ate the grape, then used the knife to pick his teeth.

“She is disrespectful and subversive,” the nobleman snapped. “She needs a firm hand and some strict discipline.” Vaisey sighed mockingly.

“So right,” he said with fake sympathy. “I had hoped that Gisborne would manage but he’s like a love-sick puppy, always fawning around his leper. It’s hard to see that changing when they’re wed…” He looked up. “If they’re wed.”

“My Lord?”

“If Gisborne is not back by the end of tomorrow, I will grant his post and lands to you…and you will have my permission to inform Lady Marion that I instruct her to marry you,” the Sheriff said with a sigh. “I’ll miss him. Really. I may even shed a tear. But life must go on.” He leaned forward. “And I trust you won’t make the same mistake?” Du Beque gave his shark-like smile.

“My interest does not lie in her bed but in her inheritance,” he reminded the Sheriff. “Her rather obvious charms leave me cold.” He smirked. “My soon-to-be predecessor would be more to my taste.” The Sheriff rolled his eyes.

“Quite,” he snapped. Then he grabbed the goblet and drained it in one long pull. “And remember, Du Beque-it doesn’t matter to me how Gisborne is prevented from returning home as long as he doesn’t reach here by the end of the day.” The other man smiled and rose.

“Excuse me,” he said oilily. “I need to warn the grooms. I think it would be prudent to go hunting for outlaws tomorrow in the forest.” Vaisey chuckled.

“Good hunting.”

oOo

His eyes snapped open and he almost panicked. Sunlight was leaking through the gaps in the rocks and it was morning.

He had fallen asleep, exhausted and in pain and now it was daylight. He had lost the cover of darkness and hours of possible lead on the gang. And he was stiff and lightheaded from dehydration. Instinctively, he pressed an arm across his body and took a few breaths. His wounds were no easier this morning but if he didn’t get moving, there was really no hope. So after checking for any sounds of life, he eased out of the crevice and then walked up the low hill, scanning the trees before heading off in what he honestly hoped was the right direction.

He had managed to find a small stream to slake his thirst and then he pressed on, always on edge for any sounds of movement. The sounds of his own footfalls seemed horrendously loud in the morning, the chirruping of birds in the trees the only signs of life. He kept hoping he would stumble across one of the smaller forest roads but all he found were more trees and brambles. And then he stopped, frozen.

Before him lay a small family, huddled round a little fire that had all but burned out. A man, woman and three children-all with their throats cut. Dead eyes stared up at the branches and the cerulean sky above, the scarlet spread of blood pooled around their necks. There had pretty much nothing-their clothes were patched and grubby-and Gisborne had the sensation he had seen them before-though he had seen most of the inhabitants of the Shire in his duties collecting the Sheriff’s taxes. These were probably a family whose home was burned, maybe on their way to live with relatives or perhaps living in the forest because they had nowhere else to go. Quietly he crouched by the woman and touched her forehead: she was cold. The murders had happened some hours earlier.

A branch snapped behind him and he started to his feet. There were sounds of movement and he flung himself behind a sturdy oak, breathing hard. There were two sets of breathing.

“No sign,” the first voice said. He didn’t recognise it but it was the same northern accent as the others. “How far could he have got?”

“He may not have carried on this way,” the second said-a deeper, gruffer voice. “He may have headed for the main road…” There was a grunt of acknowledgement.

“No trail so we may as well check that out,” he commented. “But Harold is getting impatient. If we find him, the orders are simple. Bring him back and blind him. That will stop him trying to wander off again.” There was a low chuckle.

“Should have done it in the first place but our friend wanted him to see what he’d done before we killed him,” the second man sneered. “C’mon. Harold’s gonna reward whoever brings him back…” Scarcely breathing until they had moved away, Gisborne’s eyes fell on the murdered family. Practically, he returned to them, patting down the man and finding-as expected-a knife. There was also some rather stale bread which he also took, reasoning that they no longer had any use for it while he definitely did. And then he set off through the trees at a faster pace, armed and no longer thirsty but definitely friendless and outnumbered.

He had been walking for a long time when he heard more shouts and as his looked up, he could see four men running at him-including two of the men who had tortured him. His hand tightened around the knife buthe still ran, knowing he was in the open and outnumbered. They were more heavily armed than he was and he knew what they intended. Of course, they were more rested, more fed and hadn’t spent the best part of the previous two days being prisoners but Gisborne wasn’t about to give up without a fight. In fact, he was stretching away from them when the two other men he hadn’t seen flew at him and knocked him sideways and all of them tumbling down yet another rocky slope-this one much deeper than most. They landed in a heap and he grasped the knife and scrabbled back as the others arrived, surrounding him.

He half-crouched, his weight forward and knife readied. Oh, he was going to sell his life as dearly as he could because if he fell, it would be as a knight, taking these wretched outlaws with him. The first lunged and he caught the man’s arm, slamming his knife into the thug’s side with a satisfying thud. As he wrenched the scarlet blade away, he spun and presented the wounded man to the axe swinging lethally at him. There were two screams-one from the injured outlaw and the other from his comrade and killer. Shoving the dying man away, Gisborne backed up, snatching up the axe the fallen man had dropped. It wasn’t the weapon of a knight but he would take anything-even a sharpened stick!-to fight these men off. The axe clanged against the sword of a third man and he stumbled back, ducking under a vicious swipe. He darted forward, slashing the man with his knife and swinging the axe to keep them at bay. All the time, he was backing up, looking for a more defensible position, for some advantage that could overcome his lack of numbers and proper weapons.

There were three attacking him at one as he retreated, the swipes of the axe barely keeping them at bay. There was movement all around him and he turned an instant too late as two men looped a rope around him. Jerking forward, he managed to pull them off their feet and slashed at them with the axe but a blow to his face stunned him and then he finally went down, pinned by three men who roughly disarmed him and secured him. The man with lank blond hair-who had been in the last two men to find him-gave a nasty smile.

“Gotcha!” he spat. Gisborne thrashed and fought as he was hauled up and pressed back against a tree, his hands tied behind the tree. The man punched him again and then turned to the others. “Light the fire,” he commanded. “And tell Harold we have him.” Glaring at him with hatred, Gisborne struggled again as the blond man-who was called Dan and seemed to be in charge-drew his knife.He gave a nasty grin.

“You killed Ron,” he sneered.

“You’re outlaws,” Gisborne bit out. Dan rested his blade against the prisoner’s chest.

“And you’re a killer. We don’t like people who don’t help us.” He delicately sliced the sharp edge across the skin and Gisborne grunted in pain. “If you want to help us, now is the time. We may even let you keep your sight.”

_He’s lying._

“I won’t beg,” the knight growled.

“Good,” Dan smirked and sliced again.

oOo

Robin pulled up and raised his hand. There had been a shout, a yell of pain that sounded out of place in the forest. There were voices up ahead, laughing a joking-and then another cry of pain.

Marion’s head snapped up, her face concealed under her Nightwatchman mask.

“That’s Guy,” she murmured. Robin grimaced. He was certain that Gisborne deserved every ounce of suffering he endured-from now until the end of time-but Marion and Much had both told him he was better than this. That allowing men to be tortured for whatever reason was wrong.

_Even Gisborne?_

_But once you start making exceptions, the boundaries slowly stretch and it isn’t just murderous traitors but anyone who speaks out against the Sheriff, Prince John…whoever you want. Until there is nothing to stop them. And no one is allowed to stop those who would crush England under their heel…_

_And that is wrong._

“Come on…” he murmured, dismounting and grabbing his bow, running silently towards the sounds. The others followed, securing the horses and running silently towards the sounds. Slowly, they crawled to the ridge overlooking a wide dell and paused.

Five men were standing with one lying dead and composed to one side. A fire was burning as a blond man lifted a bloody knife and stood back, revealing the sagging shape of Gisborne, tied to a tree.

“He looks in a bad way,” Much murmured. There was blood and bruises on his face from blows and burns and cuts across his chest and stomach. And while the outlaw was yelling questions at him, all he did was shake his head.

“Yeah,” Robin commented, arching out and grasping Marion’s arm. “I really think you should stay back.” She glanced at him and she shook her head.

“We have to stop them,” she breathed.

“Robin…” Will’s voice was warning and Robin looked back to see another man walk forward with a red-hot knife. An outlaw fisted Gisborne’s hair and hauled his battered face up. Another helped hold him still, fingers digging brutally into his shoulder, causing a barely-scabbed knife-cut to bleed anew.

“Last chance,” Dan sneered as the blade hovered over his cheek. “Or this will be the last thing you see.”

“I will not beg,” Gisborne said through his teeth, thrashing and trying to pull away.

“You will,” Dan sneered.

An arrow impaled his hand and he yelled, dropping the glowing knife, which grazed Gisborne’s cheek before it fell to the ground. The outlaw screamed in pain as the prisoner realised he knew the fletchings.

_As if his day couldn’t get any worse. Hood!_

“You have something of ours!” Robin shouted, standing up with his arrow trained on Dan’s heart. The other outlaws stood beside him, bows also trained.

“I would have thought you would have welcomed this murderer out of the way!” Dan shouted.

“You kill for fun, I think,” Robin told him then nodded. “John…can you free him?”

“Why me?”

“Because you can hold your own and I don’t trust him not to try something.” There was a pause and the big outlaw nodded once, then headed off down the rim of the dell to jump down. “And back away. NOW!” Robin added as his friend approached the prisoner. Eyes on the arrows, the outlaws complied, allowing John to reach him. Pulling his dagger, John swiftly sliced through the ropes and stood back. Gisborne slumped forward, breathing hard.

“Can you walk?” the outlaw asked. Glancing up, Gisborne managed the smallest of nods and took a step.

His legs all but collapsed and John grabbed his arm, hauling him up. He rolled his eyes as he wrapped an arm around the black-clad shape and hauled him up the slope.

“This, I do not like,” he grumbled.

“Nor me,” Allan added. “Can you hear something? It sounds like…”

Arrows whiffled around them and they all ducked. Robin snapped round.

“You’re kidding me!” he exclaimed. “Of all the times…” He nodded to the others. “Withdraw. We need to get after those outlaws to stop them…” And then he glanced at Gisborne. “He didn’t need rescuing after all.”

But Marion ducked to one side, seeing Du Beque leading the line of soldiers. The man glanced at the outlaws and the unmistakeable shape of Gisborne and raised his arm.

“KILL THEM ALL!” he roared. “No survivors!” Then he raised his crossbow and aimed it straight at Gisborne. “No exceptions!” The knight froze for a second, not believing what he heard and as his own survival instinct kicked in, the Nightwatchman hit him at waist level and bore them both to the ground. He groaned as the bolt missed him by inches.

“Stay down,” the cloaked shape growled as the outlaws fired back.

“What was that?” Much asked, his tone outraged.

“Looks like Gizzy does need rescuing after all,” Allan commented.

“Well-that’s just…cheating! Yes, cheating! Why are they trying to kill him? That’s our job! Well, not technically our job because we don’t kill but…”

“Shut up, Much!” Will groaned.

“Everyone-back to the horses!” Robin ordered, kneeling and firing another warning shot. Then he grimaced. “And bring him!”

“What?”

“What?”

“Why?”

“DO IT!” Robin commanded, exasperated. John grabbed Gisborne by the arm and dragged him to his horse, then scrambled up,

“You try anything funny and I’ll kill you,” he snapped.

Gisborne just managed a slight nod as he was hauled up behind the big outlaw.

And then they accelerated away, bent low over their mounts as the soldiers and Du Beque followed. Robin glanced over his shoulder.

“Why aren’t they following the other outlaws?” he grumbled.

“Because we’re Robin Hood,” Will reminded him.

“And we have apparently just kidnapped Gisborne,” Djaq added.

“I don’t suppose you have a plan for this?” John called.

“I have half a plan,” Robin protested as they dodged another volley of arrows.

“I presume the half stopped at rescuing Gizzy?” Allan shouted. There was an awkward pause. “Oh, I definitely want to join another gang. Now. Preferably miles away from here!”

“Well, nothing’s stopping you!” Much retorted.

“Shut up!” John yelled.

“No, he’s right,” Robin murmured, then turned to the others. “Split. Let’s see who they want the most!” And immediately, the outlaws all pulled away. He noted with a smile that the Nightwatchman stuck to his side but the others vanished into the trees. And he then noted with less of a smile that pretty much all of them headed after John-and Gisborne. They rode on for a few moments and he pulled to a halt. Marion wheeled round.

“Why have you stopped?” she demanded.

“Where are the soldiers?” he asked her rhetorically and she glanced over her shoulder. And then she groaned.

“Du Beque,” she realised.

“Seems like he wants to eliminate any competition,” the outlaw told her grimly. “Well, John is one of our own so we better go after him…”

“What happened to splitting?’ she asked him. He smirked.

“I knew they would all go after Gisborne,” he pointed out. “And we don’t leave our own to die.”

“Shame the Sheriff doesn’t agree with you,” she commented and followed him.

oOo

He could hear the pursuit even with glancing over his shoulder and it was taking all his strength to hang on. A part of him wondered why he was even bothering any more, when it was clear that no help was coming and no one was on his side at all. He was under no illusion that Du Beque would make his move without the blessing-tacit or otherwise-by Vaisey. The man’s reluctance to make any effort to release him from Hood’s clutches earlier had warned him but it was just another kick in the gut to realise that his master had authorised his extermination by a rival.

Arrows fired past them, inaccurate but close enough to put him on edge. And the fact he was a passenger and not in control of his destiny-again-wasn’t helping his temper. They weren’t outpacing the soldiers but the meandering path through the trees was just about maintaining distance. And the big man-John-was muttering under his breath.

“If it was down to me, I’d dump you and leave you to your friends,” he commented.

The thought had crossed Gisborne’s mind and he was honestly at a loss why Hood’s men hadn’t just left him…especially since the man had wanted to do pretty much the same to him a few short weeks earlier. There was absolutely no love lost between the two men and instinctively, they both knew there would be a reckoning, one of these days…so why had Hood saved him?

There was a possibility-and even thinking about it hurt him and confused him in equal measures.

_Marion?_

There was no doubt at all that she was still close to the outlaw-he had abundant evidence, though he would never share it with the Sheriff. They had been betrothed and he had been spotted around Knighton too often…or been in the castle when Marion was there for them not to have had some contact. It was dubious Vaisey would do anything for him-especially if he was already eyeing a successor-but Marion was nothing if not stubborn and determined. And if she hadn’t got any joy from Vaisey…would she…? Could she even consider…?

“Hang on!” John growled and he realised his grip was slackening. He took a deep breath and complied. The sounds of hooves were getting closer. “This, I do not like.”

_Me neither. But I’m in no position to comment._

The sounds of arrows burying in the tree a mere yard to their left had both men looking around and John growling in irritation.

“Robin…what happened to splitting?”

“I was testing a theory,” the outlaw explained as he galloped alongside and fixed Gisborne with a narrow look. “And I was right.”

“What’s the matter, Hood?” he managed, his voice gruff with pain. “Don’t like not being the main target for once?”

“I’m just wondering what sort of state Nottingham will be in with a new Master-at-Arms who is more concerned with eliminating his rival than capturing the infamous Robin Hood-or the gang who have been terrorising villages and manors?”

There wasn’t much of an answer to that so Gisborne looked away, seeing the Nightwatchman riding to their other side. He was a fine horseman and focussed on the way ahead. Gisborne felt his head lolling and had to concentrate to keep conscious. The sounds of the pursuers had fallen behind but the horses were still barrelling along at the fast pace…and then they burst out onto one of the smaller tracks. Finally, they slowed to a halt.

“The others should be here shortly,” Robin said.

“And then what?” John asked, jerking his thumb to the listing shape behind him. Robin sighed.

“Don’t bother, Hood,” Gisborne growled, sliding from the saddle. “I’ll make my own way from here…” His legs almost buckled and he staggered but righted himself.

“Except…there’s a problem…” Robin said, his eyes cold as he locked on Gisborne. “If we leave here and your faithful soldiers arrive to pick you up…well, I think we can all guess how that’s going. A shallow grave…if they even bother to bury you.” He pursed his lips. “We are going to take somewhere where you will be welcome.” He looked up and stared at the Nightwatchman. “We’ll deliver you to Knighton Hall-and the care of your betrothed.”

Gisborne’s head snapped up and he blinked at the rush of vertigo-so he missed the frosty glare Marion shot at Robin. But he saw as the Nightwatchman wheeled away and galloped off into the forest.

“Not everyone agrees, eh Hood?’ he taunted his enemy. The man had saved him but the animus for his past wrongs was so deep that he found himself unable to even be civil.

“I may be in a minority of one in being willing to let you live,” the outlaw snapped. “Now we can leave you-but Lady Marion asked me to find you-and because I was concerned in locating the gang who have been murdering and despoiling, I agreed.” He leaned forward, his sword in his hand, the tip hovering inches from Gisborne’s throat. “And let us be clear-that is the _only_ thing that is preventing me leaving you here or finishing the job myself!” There was a long moment and then Gisborne nodded. “Now either you get up behind John or we sling you over the saddle like cargo-your choice!”

Suddenly, he felt as if he had nothing left to give, the strains of the last few days hitting him all at once.He staggered and allowed himself to be hauled up behind John as the pair of horses set off south for the village of Knighton. He blinked.

He owed Marion his life.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six:**

They had dropped him off just inside the tree line and ridden away without looking back, leaving him to stumble the few yards out and towards Knighton Hall. The stubborn pride that had him clinging to his name despite the taunts and humiliation of claiming a Manor that no longer existed now forced him to lift his chin and square his shoulders as he walked along the road, approaching the building. He was acutely aware of his dishevelled and battered appearance and every inch was hurting as he forced one leg in front of the other, closing the distance. There were eyes on him, peasants who would spread the word of his humiliation…and his return. He blinked as he approached the door, seeing no sign of the men he had assigned to watch over Marion. Frowning,he snatched another look and blinked before he lifted a hand and hammered on the door, his other hand used to brace himself against the doorframe.

The door opened and Sir Edward stared at the sagging shape. Gisborne looked up and swallowed, his throat still raw from screaming.

“Sir Edward…” he began but the older man started.

“Sir Guy…” he gasped and reached forward. “What happened…” Gisborne rallied.

“May I come in?” he asked, absolutely determined to maintain the last shreds of his dignity.

“Are you hurt?” the older man asked unnecessarily and he felt his legs waver.

“May I come in?” he repeated, almost desperately. He knew Marion's father disapproved of him, that he would rather another had won his daughter’s hand…but he was Marion’s betrothed and his vision was starting to grey with the efforts of the day. Pausing for another moment, Sir Edward finally stepped back and allowed the younger man to stumble in. “Thank you,” he managed gruffly and looked back to his host, relieved when he heard the door close behind him. Sir Edward was already moving to the table and pulling out a chair but he gave a wry smile. “Sir Edward…is the Lady Marion in?” he asked.

And then he collapsed.

oOo

He awoke on a bed, which was definitely a step up from his previous awakenings over the last few days. There was a roof above his head, the beams dark and worn. Fading golden light filtered in through a window and there was a blanket placed gently over his body. He swallowed as he heard movement to his side and rocked his head-to see Marion.

His heart jolted and something inside him broke. She was what he had clung to, the justification he had clutched to deny the men what they wanted. She had never expressed anything other than a desire for friendship with him-no confession of love, no searing passionate kisses or murmurings of desire -but his heart had latched onto her and even though he had counselled himself to be careful, he had fallen for her. Even to the extent of risking himself for her.

“Guy,” she said gently and walked forward from her seat in the chair, effortlessly grasping a wooden mug of water and helping him to drink. He nodded in gratitude and sighed.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

“Only a couple of hours,” she told him. “I was worried…” He sat up urgently and then hissed in pain, looking down to see his body swathed in bandages. The grimace of pain that crossed his battered face had Marion worried and she leaned forward.”Guy…?” He was paler, if that was possible, his breaths harsh.

“Please…can you send word to the Sheriff?” he asked hoarsely. She nodded.

“It’s all taken care of,” she assured him. “My father dispatched a servant as soon as we had carried you upstairs. We’ve also sent word to Locksley so the staff know that you are safe.”

_Not that they care,_ he thought bitterly but he forced himself to smile.

“Thankyou,” he managed to say and then slumped back onto the pillows, breathing hard.

“Are you in pain?” she asked him, her eyes concerned. “I can get you a draught…” He waved his hand declining the offer.

“I need to get home…and prove that I am still alive…” he managed as she folded her arms and dealt him a stern look.

“Oh, you are not getting out of bed yet!” she told him tartly. “Have you any idea how long it took to dress your wounds? Guy…” Breathing hard, he looked up into her determined face.

“If I am not back at work, the Sheriff will replace me,” he reminded her. “He already has someone acting in my stead…”

“Sir Maurice Du Beque,” she confirmed and he winced at the name. The Sheriff did this on occasion: brought new young knights or impoverished noblemen into his sphere, dangling the promise of advancement, power, money. And Gisborne knew that they were there as a game for Vaisey, to see how Gisborne responded: if he could up his game to fight off the challenger rather than rest on his laurels. And sometimes the challengers realised there was nothing of value in Nottingham for them and left…but other times, Gisborne disposed of the rivals. Du Beque was the latest to eye Gisborne’s hard-won honours as a prize to be eased from his grasp…but the knight had realised there was something different in this latest pretender. There was a callous cruelty in his manner that set his teeth on edge, as if he was dealing with a second Vaisey. And there were the little moments when Gisborne found the man inspecting him just a little too closely. It made him feel…dirty.

“I approached the Sheriff but he was little concerned about your welfare. Sir Maurice promised to redouble his efforts to find you but I saw no evidence anyone cared. Or that any effort was being made at all to find out if you lived or not. So…” She paused and lowered her eyes. “I got word to Robin and asked him if he could find you…”

He managed to control his face-just-though he knew she had seen the flash of pain and anger in his eyes. No matter how he tried, Vaisey could always read his emotions in his eyes and the man enjoyed tormenting him and checking the evidence of his success. And Gisborne had suspected the truth anyway but the confirmation was like a stab to the heart.

“Why did you do that?” His voice was controlled but wary, not daring to allow himself to hope when she was admitting something verging on treason. She sighed.

“Because no one was doing anything!” she told him quietly. “After the first night, I was concerned you wouldn’t get back safely. And though I know Robin Hood is your enemy, he promised me he would bring you back safe.”

“No…why did you want me back?” He couldn’t stop it. His voice was vulnerable, betraying weakness, an edge of longing, of hope that he should despise but which gave her the smallest clue to his true feelings. “I-I know I coerced you into agreeing to be my wife. I know you are not overjoyed though you have accepted me. This could have freed you…” She perched on the edge of the bed, looking down into his clear blue-grey eyes.

“Not at the cost of your life,” she told him and sighed. He got the impression she was running over a number of responses and he prayed she would be honest with him. “You are my husband to be and my duty is to be loyal to you. To protect you. And it was the last option I had. If I hadn’t…would I have ever seen you again?”

There was a pause and he slowly shook his head. It was much less than he had hoped for but at the moment, he would take any crumbs he could get. He hoped with time she would come to appreciate what he could offer-his wealth, his lands, his position, his power…and his heart. She gave a slow sigh

“I am sorry,’ she carried on, her voice unrepentant. “But I could not stand back and let your master repay your loyalty, your service with betrayal. And allow a lesser man to steal everything you have.” His hand found hers and gently squeezed.

“You have saved my life,” he told her. “And I am more grateful than I can say. But please…don’t do this again…because I would not be able to protect you.” He closed his eyes. Her hand squeezed his.

“I understand,” she said softly. She sighed. “You do look terrible,” she added as he chuckled.

“Feel it as well,” he admitted. “But I could be worse.” She gently pulled her hand free and ghosted her fingers down his cheek.

“Get some rest,” she advised him. “I’ll come back with some food in a while…” But he grabbed her wrist.

“Marion,” he asked her suddenly. “Where are my men?” She chewed her lip.

“Du Beque sent word this morning that they were to return to Locksley,” she admitted. “They didn’t want to go-but he claimed he was acting under Sheriff’s orders and that you were never returning…” His face twisted into a scowl.

“Now how would he know that?” he asked her bitterly. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sit up again. “He found us in the forest-and he ordered his men to kill everyone.”

_As I have killed men who wanted what was mine. Rivals for the Master-at-Arms post, for Locksley, for the Sheriff’s trusted lieutenant…_

_But I wish I could keep what I have earned without paying such a high price._

Marion’s eyes widened and shook her head.

“Can’t you appeal to the Sheriff, to tell him what happened?” she asked. “Surely he…”

“Will derive amusement no matter the outcome,” the knight told her bleakly.

“Why do you serve him?” she asked him in a sigh.

“Land, money, power,” he repeated, as he had every time he was asked.

“And the price? Is it worth it?” She stared into his eyes. “Is it worth this?”

_I’ve already tried to kill the King. What higher price can I have paid? I am a dead man if Richard returns._

“I have to believe it is,” he told her grimly, the slightest smile twisting his lips. “May I have pen and paper?”

She frowned.

“For what?” He met her stare equably.

“For writing.” She rolled her eyes. “Orders for men from Locksley to return and help protect this Manor.” She opened her mouth. “Since you will not permit me to go in person, I will send my orders.”

“Guy…I am certain we will be fine for one evening…” she began but his face twisted into a mask of anger.

“These men…will stop at nothing,” he told her in a low, dangerous voice. “And I know they are heading in this direction. As I have escaped, they either act now…or give up their plans of attacking more villages and homes.” He closed his eyes and frowned, rolling his memory back to the times they tortured him, sifting through through pain and fear and the deafening sounds of his screams. “Bridgford, Locksley, Houghton, Nettlestone…and Knighton. Those were the villages they asked about.”

Her hand gently closed on his, fists tight and trembling.

“Guy…” she breathed as he opened his eyes, the intensity feverish. She swallowed at the brief fear in his eyes. She had seen him angry, humiliated, shamed, even heartbroken…but never truly afraid. “I’ll get the paper.”

oOo

“You failed.” Vaisey’s voice was matter of fact as he held a small buff coloured bird in his fist, allowing it to peck see from his other hand. Du Beque nodded.

“He will not see the dawn,” he promised as Vaisey turned, stuffing the bird back into a large cage with an alarmed twitter.

“Imbecile!” he raged. “You don’t understand! He has reached Knighton Hall and is in the care of Sir Edward and Lady Marion! I have been informed of his safe escape and that he will be returning to his duties very soon.” He glared at the ambitious nobleman. “When he returns, everything that I have granted him…is his.” Du Beque gave a stony glare.

“Gisborne will never return to the castle,” he swore. “And there will be no witnesses.” The Sheriff shared then giggled like a madman.

“Ohh, feisty!” he mocked and then his mood flipped. “Fail me and _you_ won’t see another dawn!”

oOo

Darkness had fallen, the warm velvet night swathing the village of Knighton and the gracious Hall like an expensive cloak. There were a few torches on the approach and the fire was still burning in the main room downstairs, but Marion was on edge. Her father had insisted on staying up with her, apprised of Gisborne’s warning, but he was dozing in his padded chair.

She sighed and gently laid a light shawl across his lap. She had seen the signs, that he was ailing a little. Over the last year, there had been a cough that had come and gone and he was no longer as active as he had been, though his mind was as sharp as ever. She knew he was ailing, that some day, time and age would take him from her, but for now, she revelled in his love and protection, no matter how they disagreed on her determination to help the peasants against the tyranny of the Sheriff.

She blinked. Funny. She had thought of the Sheriff and Guy as a package, partners in evil and certainly both had done terrible harm to the Shire…but over the last few days, without the buffer of Guy between herself and that foul man, she had seen precisely what an evil man Vaisey was-and how in Guy there possibly may still be some hope. And maybe his motives in protecting her were selfish, due to his obsession with her, but she could read him well enough now to know that his affections were genuine and he believed he needed to protect her.

She was tired, for she had been up well before dawn and yet she couldn’t rest. There was a sense of something coming, like a storm brewing and she paced back and forth, arms clasped around her body and face scrunched in concentration.

“Can’t sleep?”

She started at Gisborne’s deep voice and she stared as he gingerly limped down the stairs. There was a wry smile on his face and she conceded a nod as he descended hesitantly with a grimace. The servant she had sent to Locksley had brought him clothes and a spare sword and dagger but she was shocked that he arrived a few feet from her in a sleeveless fitted black leather vest, black shirt, black leather pants and boots and a sword strapped to his hip.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” she told him.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he confessed, his blue eyes luminous in the low light of the fire.

“You still look terrible,” she replied, moving closer, He gave a low chuckle.

“I’m alive to look terrible,” he reminded her.

“You're sure they’ll come?” she asked and he nodded.

“Did my men come?” he checked and his brow furrowed when she shook her head.

“No,” she sighed as he took a shuddering breath.

“Someone’s head will roll when I get home,” he swore, his face suddenly displaying his temper but she rested a soothing hand on his arm that had him looking back into her face.

“Ask first,” she suggested. “Du Beque may have been there and prevented them from leaving.” She sighed. “They are only soldiers, not knights. And they will do what they are told, the path of least resistance, because they are caught in the power struggles of powerful and callous nobles who don’t care about them.” He took a slow breath as she classified him in the condemnation-not without justification-and then turned to stare into the dying flames, his arms folded across his chest.

“I have always looked out for them, treated them well,” he murmured. “I had hoped…” And then he shook himself. “Another misjudgement.” She walked to his side.

“I think they were worried about you-from what I heard of their discussions,” she revealed. “And there were grumbles and some dissent when they were ordered away. One man was almost dragged back to Locksley because he wanted to stay.” He gave a small huff.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “That…is good to know.” Marion sighed and turned away, walking across the floor and staring into the fire.

“I only try to tell the truth,” she said and he ignored the words. Her veracity was dubious at least part of the time though he could tell she was uncomfortable speaking a direct lie. More often, she was evasive and calculated when she answered-though revealing too much of yourself when Vaisey may be listening was never wise. He walked to stare into the flames, arms crossed.

“I pray I am wrong and that they do not come,” he said, then glanced at the shuttered window and barred door. “But I guess I am not.” She glanced up then walked to pour him a goblet of wine. He gratefully accepted the drink and felt her push a chair behind him. Slowly, he sagged into the seat.

“I’ll go up to my room to watch the approach,” she volunteered and he nodded wearily. He needed to husband his strength for any fight-because he was the only warrior present. The staff were safely at the back, ready to bar the door and stay protected. Knowing what the men planned for female prisoners, Gisborne had argued with Marion to hide away but it had been fruitless-as he had guessed it would be. Marion was as stubborn and wilful in this as in everything else. He let his head sag back.

The moment of crisis was coming-and soon.

oOo

Marion stared through the window, her gaze drifting towards the dark smudge of Sherwood, dark against the star-strewn indigo sky. Somewhere close, one of the outlaws was keeping watch-she hoped. And in a moment of clarity, she really hoped it was Robin rather than Much or Allan. Then she glanced over her shoulder at her bed, so recently occupied by Gisborne.

She supposed she should be flattered, that two men-both attractive, charismatic, powerful-were fighting for her affections but all she felt was conflicted. She had loved Robin in her childhood, grown up with him and he had casually, arrogantly gotten betrothed-and then left her to gallivant off to the Holy Land, abandoning her and breaking off the engagement without a second thought when he sought glory and fame. And five years later, he returned, expecting her to be waiting, still pining for her childhood friend. And a part of her was, because he was safe and familiar, a paragon from her girlish past. And the other-dark, dangerous, treacherous violent…but more devoted to her in his way that Robin ever was. And he would worship her, would do her every will, love her to the best of her ability. But he was on the wrong side, a traitor and oppressor. She could never love him…could she?

She blinked. The Guy downstairs was not the man she met in Nottingham Castle but was a pale shadow of the man she hoped he could become. Maybe if there was more time away from Vaisey’s malevolent influence, perhaps he could be that man, a knight devoted to her rather than a man who would always place the King above her. She loved Robin…but she would never be first in his affections. His first love was King Richard, always and forever.

The whine of an arrow had her ducking. And another. Two arrows buried in the window frame, fletched with Hood’s characteristic pattern. She snapped her head back and stared at the shapes emerging from the darkness: it was the outlaw gang.

“They’re here!” she yelled, slamming the shutters and barring them. Snatching her sword, she raced down the stairs to find Gisborne on his feet, jamming the table against the door. He looked up as her father rose. Both men stiffened at the blade in her hand but Sir Edward nodded and the woman walked to his side.

“You’re fighting then?” he commented.

“I must,” she said as Gisborne looked back at her. There was resignation in his gaze, knowing argument was futile and calculating the only way he could try to keep her safe.

“Try to stay behind me,” he said gruffly and she gave a small nod. It was a concession she had to give but could always forget in the heat of battle.

And then the first impact on the door came. And again. The doorframe shook.

The shuttered window smashed open and horribly familiar shapes scrambled in.

But the first found himself impaled by an equally vicious sword thrust by Gisborne, his face twisted in hatred.

“How many of you are there?” he breathed. “Because you aren’t a ceaseless tide.”

“Enough to finish you-and take what we want,” the dying man gasped as Gisborne shoved him back through the breach. Another two boiled in-and with a smash, they came through the other window. They faced Sir Edward and Marion as he faced his own pair. One engaged him while the other unblocked the door and flung it open. And all the while, Marion and her father battled away against stronger and more determined men while Gisborne fought furiously with sword and knife, using the skills that had almost slain a King-and Robin of Locksley. Another fell but there were more men and they were backed into a corner. Sir Edward gave a cry, his arm sliced deeply by an axe and Marion’s cry of despair distracted Gisborne. He glanced up-and a blade viciously swiped across his shoulder. His dagger fell to the floor and he stumbled back, his blade raised.

“Get him back!” he yelled, eyes flicking from one outlaw to another. “And stay behind me.” This time, she nodded without argument, pushing her father behind her. There were two more dead or badly injured but they were outnumbered and trapped.

And then the familiar and just-this-once welcomed sound of an arrow was followed by a roar and Hood’s men erupted into the house, blades flashing and staffs swinging. A burly man surged forward, his face hardened and furious. There was murder in his eyes and Gisborne knew he hadn’t seen the man before, though he had encountered most of the outlaw gang, one way or another. The man was hacking away at him with a heavy sword and it was all he could do to block. There was no finesse in the movements, only a desire to kill and he was hemmed in. He could step away, throw the man off guard and off-balance—but that would expose Marion and Sir Edward…and he had already given so much to protect them. To protect _her._

But he wasn’t alone. Hood’s gang was cutting throughthe attackers and they were falling.

_So much for not killing._

Hood was fighting Dan, the blond man who had questioned Gisborne. The curved saracen sword was gleaming in the firelight, slicing away with ferocity and that casual arrogance that the black knight had faced so many times. Gisborne backed up a pace, his head spinning: too much exertion and too little food and sleep were taking their toll. He was being driven back. Dimly, he could hear Sir Edward behind him, see Marion in the periphery of his vision, fighting with a sword and defending her father. And before him, the outlaw was breathing hard, stinking of sweat and woodsmoke and greed.

“You can’t touch us,” the man breathed, his northern accent rough and hard. “We’re protected.”

“Who?” Gisborne breathed. But he could guess.

_“A little bird tells me that you are the man who runs the patrols round the county, who makes the schedule.”_

_Someone in the Castle is helping these men. Someone who knows far too much about me. Someone who benefits from my death._

_Someone not Hood._

“Not from me,” he growled and grabbed his fury with both hands, throwing his weight forward. He grabbed the bulky man’s wrist, wrestling for his sword. His memory cycled, rolling over every second of his captivity, rerunning the words they had spoken when they thought he was unconscious from their torments. “Harold, isn’t it? I can kill you swiftly or I can keep you alive and we can go back to Nottingham. And your men were right. Under torture, everyone breaks. But I have more equipment and much more experience. I will get what I need from you. Eventually.”

“Not if I kill you,” Harold growled. He shoved Gisborne back but the knight hung on.

“You think you’ll live?” Gisborne snarled. “Look around you. Hood’s men don’t like the competition.”

“They don’t kill,” Harold sneered as a body hit the ground beside him. It was Dan, his dead eyes staring skywards, blood trickling from his slack mouth.

“Times change,” Gisborne smirked, sweeping Harold’s legs from under him and wrenching his hand away, ducking the wild swipe and ramming his sword deep into the man’s gut. The outlaw gasped and buckled, dropping to the floor. Using his sword to push himself to his feet, he looked down on the wounded man. “I want a name.”

An axe swung at him but it clanged off Hood’s sword before Little John slammed his staff into the man’s head. The outlaw folded. One tried to scramble out the door but Will and Djaq grabbed him and knocked him unconscious. Taking a deep breath, Gisborne lifted his foot and rested it on Harold’s wound. Ruthlessly, he put his weight through the wound.

Harold screamed.

“I want…a name…” Gisborne rasped.

“Let him GO!” Robin shouted, moving to shove the black knight back. But Gisborne resisted, his head snapping round to glare at the man’s face. For all Hood’s protestations, he had nothing to be proud of.In Acre, they would have tortured him if he had been caught for his attack on the King.

“They have killed over twenty, ransacked five manors and spoiled numerous women. They were here for Marion and her father! I need to know who is working with them.” He was breathing hard in pain but fury was still coursing through him. And a part of him ached to be a better man before Marion, to take Harold to Nottingham away from her and conduct the ugly necessity in secret-but the wound was grave and it was likely he would die before they reached the castle and the tools he needed. All information would be lost. And he was still Master-At-Arms. _Possibly._

He had a duty. To Nottingham. And to Marion.

“How many men have you?” he growled. He ground his heel in the wound.

Marion flinched and buried her head in her father’s shoulder. Then she busied herself in padding her father’s wound until the healer could be called, ignoring the screams and pleas for mercy.

“A dozen. There are twelve of us. Or there were…”

“Who are you working with?”

It took longer but in the end, it was just a broken whisper.

“Du Beque.”

“Why?”

“He almost caught us in Cheshire. Made a deal. Wanted Nottingham. Went ahead and sent for us. He set it up.”

Gisborne blinked.

“Du Beque set your attacks up?”

Harold rolled his ashen face to leer at the tall, dark shape. He gave a ghastly grin, bloodstained teeth livid against his white lips.

“To end you. To take what you got!” he breathed.

They were his last words as Gisborne raised the sword and drove it through his heart.

“How many are there here?” he asked shortly.

“Ten,” Will reported. “Seven dead, three unconscious.”

“Bind the living,” Gisborne said, staring down at the corpse at his feet. “Then go…”

“This isn’t your house…” Robin told him.

“I will turn and close my eyes,” Gisborne said slowly, the fury leaving him feeling empty and exhausted. “When I look back, you will be gone.” He looked up at Marion and she met his eyes, seeing the flat anger in his blue gaze. She nodded. He stared at her, watching her eyes as she followed Robin as he faded into the dark, as the sounds of the Gang faded away and her attention finally turned back to him.

“They have gone,” she told him. “Sir Guy…” He lifted his chin and swallowed.

“I need to borrow your horse,” he said abruptly, ignoring his shoulder wound, the pains that swathed his wounded body. “I need to get to Locksley. By my reckoning, the entire gang is out of action and I need my men to remove the prisoners and the dead.”

“That would be for the best,” Sir Edward said, his face pale. Inclining his head slightly, Gisborne felt his heart sink. Marion’s gaze was flat, hostile and were there tears shimmering at the edge of her vision? She had seen him for what he was, the black-hearted villain who tortured and murdered because that was what these animals deserved. Because he needed to know how many were left out there and whether the threat was gone. And because, above all, he had need of reliable witnesses. Not Hood’s gang-Sir Edward and Marion. They had heard the dying Harold’s words. They could bear witness…if witnesses were needed.

“I am grateful for your hospitality,” he said roughly and turned to the door, staggering from his wounds. He heard Marion start towards him but he raised a hand sharply, bending gingerly to retrieve his dagger. “I need to go. It would be better if I left you to the care of your servants.”

“Thank you…for saving our lives,” Sir Edward said but Gisborne half-turned his head with a grim smirk.

“I think we both know we all owe our lives to Hood,” he said grimly, his wounded pride written across his bruised face. Then he walked out of the door as Marion heaved a sigh of relief.

“Father, are you…?” she began but he smiled and patted her hand.

“Fetch the servants,” he advised her. “And then we can begin the clear up.”

But her eyes lingered over the corpses, especially that of Harold, and she shrank back. Just when she thought she was getting to know him, was beginning to hope that he could be saved, he demonstrated that underneath it all, he was still a cold-hearted killer.

There could never be any hope…could there?

“Oh Guy,” she sighed and turned back to the kitchen.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Sir Guy of Gisborne awoke in his own bed in Locksley Manor, his shoulder wound crudely padded by Thornton and his body stiff. He was swathed in bandages from Marion’s ministrations the previous day and his head was spinning but he rose, washed, changed and stiffly limped downstairs, armed and ready for the day.

“Are they alive?” he asked the sergeant, who was waiting by the table. There was watered down ale and bread and cold meat to break his fast and he wolfed the food like a starving man. A day before, he had spent the night asleep in a crevice and was running for his life. The outlaws had been prepared to blind him. Now he was taking their bodies and the three survivors back to Nottingham.

“They have been given water but they are secure,” the soldier reported.

“Prepare them for transfer. Is my horse ready?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man said and bowed. He exited as Gisborne finished his breakfast and the knight pondered on his work for the day. He hoped the letter had held off the Sheriff from dismissing him: it would make life easier and would ease his way but until he heard otherwise, he was Master-At-Arms of Nottingham and he had a duty. And for once, a success to report.

So he rode out, after conceding and using a mounting step, the cart carrying the prisoners and the corpses following his jet charger and a detachment of his men accompanying them. There were looks and murmurs from the people of Locksley, the usual wary and accusing looks following their Lord as he rode by. Little did they know that his actions had spared them from attack…but no one would give him credit or care that he had protected them this time. Hood would always take their affections and the glory…and maybe that was earned in this case…but the bodies and prisoners were his to claim.

Nottingham was a grim and dismal as usual and eyes flicked up in surprise as he trotted through the streets, the very sparse stalls with their limited wares of little interest to him. His eyes were on the grey walls of the main keep, rearing above the town that huddled at its feet, protected by the encompassing outer curtain walls. But he kept his chin up, his eyes glinting as he scowled at the castle guards. Calmly, he dismounted at the castle steps, handing his reins to a guard.

“Take the prisoners to the dungeon. Leave the bodies on the cart,” he commanded and headed up the stairs. Every step caused pain but a scowl covered most things and had the advantage of warning off anyone who may try to accost him on the way. His hands were fisted in his gloves, his back straight and steps hurried as he stalked to the Sheriff’s office and hammered on the door, then walked in without being invited.

Vaisey looked up, his face fashioned in an expression of bored indifference, though an eyebrow elevated a fraction. Then he gave a broad smile and spread his hands.

“The wanderer returns!” he scoffed, the tone sarcastic. “Did you enjoy your holiday?”

“My Lord.” The tone was gruff and guarded. “You received word from Sir Edward-and my letter?”

“Yes, yes-and not a moment too soon,” the Sheriff told him callously. “I was about to dismiss you for desertion and declare you an outlaw for abandoning your post. I think the servant arrived half an hour before my deadline.”

“My letter…”

“Yes, yes-though why did Sir Edward send a servant? Why not one from Locksley?” Vaisey’s eyes narrowed.

“I was…incapacitated,” Gisborne ground out through gritted teeth. The Sheriff pouted.

“Poor Gisborne,’ he sneered. “Fainted like a girl, did you?” The taunt was too close to home to answer with anything other than a stony stare and the older man burst out laughing. “Sometimes I wonder why I actually still keep you.”

“Because I get results!” Gisborne spat, lurching forward and resting his hands on the desk, looming towards his master. Vaisey remained still, calculating how far further he could push his lieutenant. Face twisted on rage, eyes flashing with hatred, he could read the frustration and the anger, boiling through the younger man. “The outlaws who have been attacking the northern mansions made the mistake of attacking Knighton last evening. They were destroyed. I brought you three prisoners-to be hanged. The rest are dead.” Vaisey frowned-then reached up and gently patted Gisborne’s shoulder.

“Good work,” he said patronisingly. Then he sat back and steepled his fingers. “And why did you go walkabout?” The knight straightened up.

“They ambushed the tax convoy-but I was their target,” he growled. “Their contact in the castle gave them information that I could help them. They wanted patrol schedules.”

“And you were your usual cheery and helpful self?” Vaisey sneered. Gisborne lifted his chin.

“I escaped,” he growled.

“Du Beque reported you were consorting with outlaws,” Vaisey challenged him. Gisborne ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

“Du Beque who didn’t catch a single outlaw or make any attempt to shoot anyone-except me,” he reported sharply. “He had the outlaw gang there, at his mercy-and he let them go. He let Hood’s gang go. He only pursued me-and he missed.” Then he folded his arms. “But then, he was the outlaw’s contact. He set the whole thing up.”

Vaisey’s eyes widened and cooled. Ruthless and sadistic he was but he hated being played as much as the next psychopath.

“How?” he demanded icily.

“Du Beque fed those men information and planned the raids,” he said. “It was a convenient way of showing how lawless the county was and how a new man could do better-especially when he paid the outlaws to go away…after taking his cut, of course. And if they could dispose of me as well-well all the better.”

“Not that you set a high bar, Gisborne. Hood keeps getting the better of you.”

“Their leader admitted the plan before he died,” Gisborne pressed on. Vaisey twitched an eyebrow. “Before witnesses. Sir Edward and Lady Marion witnessed my examination of the man.”

The Sheriff gave a broad grin.

“Were they entertained?” he sneered. “Or is she looking at you like the monster you are?”

The knight’s eyes flashed the answer before he veiled the pain.

“Du Beque is a traitor,” he said harshly. “He…”

The door burst open and the richly-dressed shape of Du Beque entered, sketching a bow to the Sheriff before glaring at the black clad shape of Gisborne.

“My Lord,” he said. “I came as soon as I heard my predecessor had finally decided to return.” Gisborne lifted his chin and cast the nobleman a hateful glare.

“Ah. Embarrassing. Awkward, even,” Vaisey said without any sign of any of those emotions. “Gisborne actually had good explanation why he was otherwise engaged. Something about capturing and destroying the outlaw band you promised you would dispose of. Whoops. He gets to keep his lands and titles. So sorry. You lose.” He leaned forward. “This is a results-orientated business, Du Beque-and you’ve been out-resulted!”

“My Lord-I can explain…” the man began but Gisborne smirked.

“We examined their leader-and he revealed he had a contact within the castle,” he growled.

“That is surprising,” Du Beque said. Then he shook his head. “I cannot imagine…” Gisborne waved a hand and two guards flanked the treacherous Du Beque.

“You’ve been imagining too much,” he accused the other man. The he jerked his head. “Take him to the dungeon.” Du Beque snapped his head round to appeal to the Sheriff but Vaisey waved a hand.

“I told you that if you failed me, you wouldn’t see another dawn,” he said mildly. “You’ve already seen one extra. I’m not that generous a man!” And he nodded.

“NO!” Du Beque yelled as he was hauled away. “You promised me that you would give me his lands and…”

“The offer was only conditional on success-and you failed!” Vaisey sneered.

“So did he!” Sir Maurice spat, fighting hopelessly. The Sheriff shrugged.

“What can I say? I seem to have a soft spot for Gisborne!” he said as the door slammed behind the cursing nobleman. Gisborne frowned. “And that was only for his benefit, by the way. I don’t. You still haven’t caught me Hood.”

Gisborne exhaled.

“The taxes got through safely?” he asked and the Sheriff nodded.

“I doubt the ploy will work again but…that was successful,” he conceded reluctantly. “And now this. Two successes in a few days? You’re breaking the habit of a lifetime.” Gisborne closed his eyes for a second before folding his arms across his chest. The jibe was brutal when Gisborne had served Vaisey faithfully and viciously for many years but it just another of the Sheriff’s games. He paused-and then there was a knock on the door. The door opened and Marion flounced in, her cloak flaring around her dress, her eyes fixated on Vaisey and ignoring the tall shape of Gisborne.

“My Lord Sheriff!” she began but Vaisey huffed and sat back in his seat, snatching at his goblet and downing the lot.

“I need wine to listen to today’s complaint,” he grumbled. “Yes, Lady Marion?” She walked forward to the desk and stared him down.

“I am here to support Sir Guy,” she said sharply, causing him to start and look sideways at her.

“He seems surprised,” the Sheriff noted snidely.

“Sir Guy is aware of my distaste for his methods,” Marion announced clearly, saying nothing that was news for either man. “But I not so naive that sometimes the end justifies the means. Over twenty dead and far more hurt at the hands of these outlaws. They had to be stopped. And they have been. My father and I owe our lives to Sir Guy’s courage and skills. And we heard the outlaw confess his contact was Sir Maurice Du Beque, that Du Beque was the mastermind of the attacks. My father would be happy to bear witness as well, though he is unwell today. But he can be brought here if you wish a trial.”

Vaisey scowled-and then his face cleared.

“No need,” he said abruptly. “Gisborne has been forgiven. Du Beque is condemned. You may go.”Marion stared at him, then wordlessly turned away and walked out, all without sparing the slightest glance at her fiancé. The black knight started and half-turned, casting her a pained look. The Sheriff snorted.

“Go and sort out your loose ends, Gisborne,” he snapped. “Then report back here. There are a lot of holes in your tale that need filling in.” Sparing the smallest nod, he spun on his heel and strode after her. Of course, she may not even acknowledge his existence but she had come to support him and that meant something. Though his head may explode if he tried to consider it too long.

“Marion!” he called, his voice rough. She was almost at the stairs but she stopped and allowed hm to catch up, though her face was carefully expressionless as she turned to face him.

“Sir Guy,” she said coldly.

“Thank you,” he murmured in a low voice, inching closer to her. She retreated and he stilled. “I am sorry I offended you.”

“You did what needed to be done,” she said coldly. He nodded. “I came in case the Sheriff disbelieved you.”

“If he had, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” he told her with a frown.

“So I wasted my time,” she snapped and he reached out to her but then paused, his hand hovering inches above hers.

“No,” he said roughly. “No. I cannot say how grateful I am…”

“As I explained, it is my duty to you as your betrothed,” she snapped back, causing him to withdraw his hand.

“How is your father?’ he asked, his voice lowered in pain.

“He is injured…” she said and then she sighed. “But we are both alive thanks to you…” He gave a bitter smile.

“We both know that isn’t true,” he snarled. She stared at him and felt his defensive anger. It was his default because anger seemed to be his oldest friend.

“It is,” she sighed. “They would have overwhelmed us without you. You saved us.”

“And you are repulsed by me,” he said emotionlessly. She exhaled shakily.

“I was repulsed by what I witnessed,” she told him honestly. He closed his eyes and lifted his head.

“I needed the information and there was no other way,” he snapped. Then he stared into her face, reading her distaste. “You think your precious King Richard hesitates to torture enemies if he thinks it will loosen tongues? Whether the enemy is Saracen, German, Sicilian or English? Or even your precious Robin Hood?” His tone was vicious. “Hood is no better than any of us.”

She chewed her lip.

“You’re wrong,” she said tonelessly.

“Am I? His own men had to drag him off to stop him slitting my throat. Or burning me. He’s an outlaw. A criminal.” She turned away, unable to meet his eyes and he felt a tiny stab of triumph in hurting her by landing a hit on her precious Hood. But the triumph vanished as soon as it appeared at her reaction. _Was he always destined to prove to her that he was less than what she hoped? For once, couldn’t he live up to her expectations?_

“I need to go,” she said awkwardly. “My father needs me.”

He caught her arm then, steeling himself for the sensation of her freezing at his unwanted touch.

“Marion,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes wary.

“Just when I think I am getting to know the real you, something happens and I realise that I don’t know you at all,’ she told him flatly, pulling her arm free. He stared into her face, a sudden pang of defeat hitting him.

“If you know only one thing, it is that I love you,” he said gruffly. “Everything I did was for you. I couldn’t allow anything to happen no you-no matter what they did.” She stared at him, her mouth dropping open. “Go to your father,” he told her gruffly. “May I visit you?”

“In a few days,’ she said coolly. “My father needs rest and we have repairs to make…” Then she turned away and he watched her go, hands fisted and heart wounded. He watched her vanish through the archway and then turned, heading further into the castle. The guards watched him as he stalked to the heavy door to the dungeons and vanished into the depths. He knew the way too well and the men scarcely paid him mind as he stalked in, gesturing to the jailer.

“Sir Maurice Du Beque?” he asked and they gestured to the nearest cell and the shape standing furious and tall within. Schooling his face, Gisborne approached.

“You think you will get away with this?” the nobleman sneered. “I have many friends…”

"And where are they now?” the black knight challenged him. “The Sheriff has the ear of Prince John and he has condemned you.” Then he took a step back. “But I know the drive to get lands and power and titles.” He nodded and the guards opened the cage. “So I’m giving you a chance to leave.” He gestured and the nobleman walked forward.

“No strings?” he asked.

“Leave. Now.” The words were little more than a low growl. And then the guards flanked him and marched him up the stairs towards the stables. Gisborne followed, determined to see his part through and tracked them all the way to the stables.Then the guards stood back.

“I will make you-and Vaisey-regret this,” Du Beque snapped. “I have friends among the Lionheart’s Army. They could make life very uncomfortable for you.” The he turned to his horse and snorted. In that moment, Gisborne slapped his right hand onto the man’s right shoulder and his left hand snatched the dagger from its sheath and plunged it round into his heart. Breathing hard, the black knight held him up until his last breath departed-and then he lowered the body to the straw.

“Dispose of that,” he ordered, cleaning his dagger in the man’s tunic, then he painfully levered himself up to his feet. Without a backwards glance, he headed past the guards and out into the weak sunshine. He took a deep breath and then steeled himself. Vaisey awaited.

oOo

“How’s your father?” Robin’s voice was genuinely concerned as he swung in through Marion’s window. She stared at him, her expression exasperated.

“Resting,” she hissed, motioning him to keep his voice down. “And coming here in broad daylight? Are you mad?”

“Gisborne’s men have gone and he’s still in Nottingham,” Robin reminded her as he leaned against the wall. “Are you alright?” She nodded.

“I can’t believe…” she began and then shook her head. “That he…”

Robin rested his head back against the wall and sighed. It wasn’t a subject he felt comfortable addressing but he had caught Marion’s expression as she watched Gisborne ruthlessly torture the man.

“He’s dangerous,” he said. “I’ve warned you about this before. What better way to remind you of his true face?” She pressed her lips together in a thin line.

“But you were willing to do the same to him, weren’t you?” she challenged him.

“That was different,” he flared up. “He’s a traitor to the King! I needed to know who else was involved…”

“A King fighting thousands of miles away who seems to care little for his people back here, leaving his brother and men like the Sheriff in charge!” she spat back. “But here and now, that gang was murdering people here. In Nottinghamshire. People I knew. Innocents. And they were being helped by the man the Sheriff was appointing as Gisborne’s replacement. Your justification was no better than his. And at least he was trying to help people here, not your precious King!”

“He’s our King!” Robin argued. stepping forward. “He is your King too. He loves the country and when he returns, everything will be right. He’s a great man.”

“And he’s not here!” Marion snapped. Then she shook her head. “If he truly cared for England rather than his own glory and vanity, he would be here in England protecting her people. But he doesn’t. He cares for war and battle, for killing Saracens and claiming Jerusalem. And how long will that last, Robin? A year? Ten years? Twenty? And then there will be more war as the people who actually live there will want to reclaim their homes. It will never end.” He stared at her and then shook his head.

“I am not the enemy,’ he told her, his knuckles white as he fisted his hands. “The Sheriff is. Gisborne is. Prince John is. They hurt the people.”

“And yesterday, Gisborne saved my life. Yes, I know you arrived in time but we would have been dead by the time you arrived if he hadn’t been there…”

“They were after him,” Robin reminded her.

“And you insisted he was brought here,” she reminded him bluntly. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Marion-I’m sorry…” he began but she huffed.

“Go and get some rest,” she advised him in a softer voice. “None of us slept much last night.” She gently rested her hand on his arm. “I think we can all rest easier tonight, knowing they have gone.” He gave a weary shrug of acknowledgement.

“Just…be careful,” he told her in a low voice. “You can’t trust him. No matter what he says, what he pretends, he is an evil man, a traitor and a killer. He serves a monster.”

“And I am betrothed to him-and I will see it through…” she told him and then she glanced over her shoulder. “We have time. In the meantime-I have to believe there is still some good, some hope for him.” She smiled weakly. “Now go. I think we all need a good sleep.” He grinned and kissed her hand.

“I’m not going to stop trying to show you what he is,” he told her as she smiled.

“Find the proof,” she advised him and he winked, then jumped from the window, swung away and ran off. She rolled her eyes and then absently rubbed her thumb over the betrothal ring on her finger. She pressed it to her lips.

“Please let me be right,” she prayed. “Please let there still be something I can work with in him.” _Please let there still be the hope of something good in him._

oOo

Dusk had fallen and the night was chilled when the Sheriff indicated Gisborne was no longer required. It had been the usual day of standing at his shoulder, absorbing insults and being treated like trash but his wounds had made it harder than ever and finally Vaisey had insisted on inspecting the damage for himself.

His verdict had been less than encouraging, though he had cheerfully prodded several of the worst wounds-enjoying the pain he caused, of course-and had announced his scorn for the amateur quality of the work. The humiliation had just sharpened Gisborne’s temper and Vaisey had soothed him, praised him, encouraged him to subtly remind him that the Sheriff was his de facto father, the source of his power and influence. And he had tried not to cringe away from the hand, trailing over his wounded shoulder, the sticky touch leaving greasy trails on his skin. He had forced himself not to flinch at the tender caress of his face, the breath that tickled his ear as Vaisey whispered his honeyed words of seduction in his ear once more.

And he had pulled back when Vaisey had tried to lift his chin to stare into his eyes. There were limits. He still had limits and some of them Vaisey had never made him cross.

“Last chance, Gisborne,” the Sheriff had sneered and shoved him back. “Cover yourself up. You look like a badly-skinned rabbit.” Humiliated almost beyond words, he had complied.

“May I go?” he asked gruffly, breathing hard and swallowing his anger.

“Is he disposed of?” Vaisey asked.

“As usual,” the black knight confirmed.

“Then get out of my sight,” the Sheriff hissed. “Get your estate in order. I have work for you in two days. When you return, I expect no whining, no ‘poor Guy’ and no playing on those minor bruises. Business as usual, Gisborne-business as usual!” And he turned and marched out, leaving his lieutenant to slowly clamber to his feet and make his own way home.

Riding through the night, he allowed the jogging of the horse to lull him into a half-daze. A part of him wanted to take the fork to Knighton but he knew he would not be welcome there. No matter what he tried, how hard he worked, there was no way he could ever be the man she wanted, the man she deserved.

But she was going to be his wife. She had promised. No matter that she was waiting for the King to return. One day…

He swallowed and a small, genuine smile lifted his lips.

The past could not be changed and he knew who and what he was. _What he had done._ But there was still the chance to prove himself to her. The chance to become what she hoped for. And somehow, maybe she could help ease some of the blackness from his soul. In his heart, he had to believe he was not irrevocably lost-because he had proved he would bleed for her, scream for her…kill for her. Not for himself or his own gain or advancement but for her. That had to mean _something_. Because it was more than he had felt for anyone in so many years…maybe his whole life.

He would prove himself to her over the next few months. He had worked so hard for everything he had, he knew he could achieve it. And if it meant opposing Vaisey…he would have to take the chance. Because he wanted Marion above everything. And she was a prize worth earning.

So he turned his horse back along the track to Locksley, accelerating to a slow canter. She had risked her life to ensure he was rescued and no matter what she protested, he knew that she still harboured some affection for him. It was something to work with. God knew, he needed some hope. And he would cling to it as his beacon in the dark, his promise for the future.

Tomorrow was going to be a better day.

**The End**


End file.
